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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14723-0.txt b/14723-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d856f3d --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3424 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14723 *** + +HOW IT HAPPENED + +BY + +KATE LANGLEY BOSHER + +AUTHOR OF + +THE MAN IN LONELY LAND, +MARY CARY, ETC + +ILLUSTRATED + + +PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 1914 + + +TO +MY FAITHFUL FRIEND +ARIADNE ELIZABETH VAUGHAN LATHAM + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +"WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR TOASTED CHEESE +ON TOAST?" + +"YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I THANK YOU NOW +FOR--" + + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Head on the side and chin uptilted, she held it at arm's-length, +turning it now in one direction, now in another, then with +deliberation she laid it on the floor. + +"I have wanted to do it ever since you were sent me; now I am going +to." + +Hands on hips, she looked down on the high-crown, narrow-brim hat of +stiff gray felt which was at her feet, and nodded at it with firmness +and decision. "It's going to be my Christmas present to +myself--getting rid of you. Couldn't anything give me as much pleasure +as smashing you is going to give. Good-by--" + +Raising her right foot, Carmencita held it poised for a half-moment +over the hated hat, then with long-restrained energy she brought it +down on the steeple-crown and crushed it into shapelessness. "I wish +she could see you now." Another vigorous punch was given, then with a +swift movement the battered bunch of dull grayness, with its yellow +bird and broken buckle of tarnished steel, was sent in the air, and as +it landed across the room the child laughed gaily, ran toward it, and +with the tip of her toes tossed it here and there. Sending it now up +to the ceiling, now toward the mantel, now kicking it over the table, +and now to the top of the window, she danced round and round the room, +laughing breathlessly. Presently she stooped, picked it up, stuck it +on her head, and, going to the stove, opened its top, and with a shake +of her curls dropped the once haughty and now humbled head-gear in the +fire and watched it burn with joyous satisfaction. + +"The first time she wore it we called her Coachman Cattie, it was so +stiff and high and hideous, and nobody but a person like her would +ever have bought it. I never thought it would some day come to me. +Some missioners are nice, some very nice, but some--" + +With emphasis the lid of the stove was put back, and, going to the +table in the middle of the room, Carmencita picked up the contents of +the little work-basket, which had been knocked over in her rushing +round, and put them slowly in place. "Some missioners seem to think +because you're poor everything God put in other people's hearts and +minds and bodies and souls He left out of you. Of course, if you +haven't a hat you ought to be thankful for any kind." The words came +soberly, and the tiniest bit of a quiver twisted the lips of the +protesting mouth. "You oughtn't to know whether it is pretty or ugly +or becoming or--You ought just to be thankful and humble, and I'm not +either. I don't like thankful, humble people; I'm afraid of them." + +Leaving the table where for a minute she had jumbled needles and +thread and scissors and buttons in the broken basket, she walked +slowly over to the tiny mirror hung above a chest of drawers, and on +tiptoes nodded at the reflection before her--nodded and spoke to it. + +"You're a sinner, all right, Carmencita Bell, and there's no natural +goodness in you. You hate hideousness, and poorness, and other +people's cast-offs, and emptiness in your stomach, and living on the +top floor with crying babies and a drunken father underneath, and +counting every stick of wood before you use it. And you get furious +at times because your father is blind and people have forgotten about +his beautiful music, and you want chicken and cake when you haven't +even enough bacon and bread. You're a sinner, all right. If you were +in a class of them you would be at the head. It's the only thing you'd +ever be at the head of. You know you're poverty-poor, and still you're +always fighting inside, always making out that it is just for a little +while. Why don't you--" + +The words died on her lips, and suddenly the clear blue eyes, made for +love and laughter and eager for all that is lovely in life, dimmed +with hot tears, and with a half-sob she turned and threw herself face +downward on the rug-covered cot on the opposite side of the room. + +"O God, please don't let Father know!" The words came in tones that +were terrified. "Please don't ever let him know! I wasn't born good, +and I hate bad smells, and dirty things, and ugly clothes, and not +enough to eat, but until I am big enough to go to work please, +_please_ help me to keep Father from knowing! Please help me!" + +With a twisting movement the child curled herself into a little ball, +and for a moment tempestuous sobbing broke the stillness of the room, +notwithstanding the knuckles of two little red hands which were +pressed to the large sweet mouth. Presently she lifted the hem of her +skirt and wiped her eyes, then she got up. + +"I wish I could cry as much as I want to. I never have had a place +convenient to do it all by myself, and there's never time, but it gets +the choked things out and makes you feel much better. I don't often +want to, just sometimes, like before Christmas when you're crazy to do +a lot of things you can't do--and some people make you so mad! If I'd +been born different and not minding ugly things and loving pretty +ones, I wouldn't have hated that hat so. That's gone, anyhow. I've +been wanting to see how high I could kick it ever since Miss Cattie +sent it to me, and now I've done it. I've got a lot of old clothes I'd +like to send to Ballyhack, but I can't send." + +She stopped, smoothed her rumpled dress, and shook back the long loose +curls which had fallen over her face. "I must be getting sorry for +myself. If I am I ought to be spanked. I can't spank, but I can dance. +If you don't head it off quick it goes to your liver. I'll head!" + +With a swift movement Carmencita sprang across the room and from the +mantel took down a once beribboned but now faded and worn tambourine. +"You'd rather cry," she said, under her breath, "but you sha'n't cry. +I won't let you. Dance! Dance! Dance!" + +Aloft the tambourine was shaken, and its few remaining bells broke +gaily on the air as with abandon that was bewildering in grace and +suppleness the child leaped into movement swift and light and amazing +in beauty. Around the room, one arm akimbo, one hand now in the air, +now touching with the tambourine the hard, bare floor, now tossing +back the loose curls, now waving gaily overhead, faster and faster she +danced, her feet in perfect rhythm to the bells; then presently the +tambourine was thrown upon the table, and she stopped beside it, face +flushed, eyes shining, and breath that came in quick, short gasps. + +"That was much better than crying." She laughed. "There isn't much you +can do in this world, Carmencita, but you can dance. You've got to do +it, too, every time you feel sorry for yourself. I wonder if I could +see Miss Frances before I go for Father? I _must_ see her. Must! Those +Beckwith babies have got the croup, and I want to ask her if she +thinks it's awful piggy in me to put all my money, or 'most all, in +Father's present. And I want to ask her--I could ask Miss Frances +things all night. Maybe the reason I'm not a thankful person is I'm so +inquiring. I expect to spend the first hundred years after I get to +heaven asking questions." + +Going over to the mantel, Carmencita looked at the little clock upon +it. "I don't have to go to the wedding-place for father until after +six," she said, slowly, "and I'd like to see Miss Frances before I go. +If I get there by half past five I can see the people get out of their +automobiles and sail in. I wish I could sail somewhere. If I could see +some grandness once and get the smell of cabbage and onions out of my +nose, which I never will as long as the Rheinhimers live underneath +us, I wouldn't mind the other things so much, but there isn't any +chance of grandness coming as high up in the air as this. I wonder if +God has forgot about us! He has so many to remember--" + +With a swift turn of her head, as if listening, Carmencita's eyes grew +shy and wistful, then she dropped on her knees by the couch and buried +her face in her arms. "If God's forgot I'll remind Him," she said, and +tightly she closed her eyes. + +"O God"--the words came eagerly, fervently--"we are living in the +same place, and every day I hope we will get in a better one, but +until we do please help me to keep on making Father think I like it +better than any other in town. I thought maybe You had forgotten where +we were. I'm too little to go to work yet, and that's why we're still +here. We can't pay any more rent, or we'd move. And won't You please +let something nice happen? I don't mean miracles, or money, or things +like that, but something thrilly and exciting and romantic, if You can +manage it. Every day is just the same sort of sameness, and I get so +mad-tired of cooking and cleaning and mending, before school and after +school and nights, that if something don't happen soon I'm afraid +Father will find out what a pretending person I am, and he mustn't +find. It's been much better since I knew Miss Frances. I'm awful much +obliged to You for letting me know her, but she isn't permanent, +Mother McNeil says, and may go away soon. I'm going to try to have a +grand Christmas and be as nice as I can to Mrs. Rheinhimer, but she's +so lazy and dirty it's hard not to tell her so. And if You could let a +nice thing happen for Christmas I hope You will. If it could be a +marriage and I could be bridesmaid I'd like that best, as I've never +been to an inside wedding, just outside on the street. I don't care +for poor marriages. Amen." + +On her feet, Carmencita hesitated, then, going to a closet across the +room, took from its top shelf a shabby straw hat and put it on. "This +was bought for me and fits," she said, as if to some one by her side, +"and, straw or no straw, it feels better than that Coachman Cattie, +which is gone for evermore. Some day I hope I can burn you up, +too"--she nodded to the coat into which she was struggling--"but I +can't do it yet. You're awful ugly and much too big, but you're warm +and the only one I've got. I'll have half an hour before it's time to +go for Father. If Miss Frances is home I can talk a lot in half an +hour." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Carmencita knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. After the +third knock she opened the door and, hand on the knob, looked in. + +"Oh, Miss Frances, I was afraid you had gone out! I knocked and +knocked, but you didn't say come in, so I thought I'd look. Please +excuse me!" + +The girl at the sewing-machine, which was close to the window and far +from the door, stopped its running, turned in her chair, and held out +her hand. "Hello, Carmencita! I'm glad it's you and not Miss Perkins. +I wouldn't want Miss Perkins to see me trying to sew, but you can see. +Take off your coat. Is it cold out?" + +"Getting cold." The heavy coat was laid on one chair, and Carmencita, +taking up a half-made gingham dress from another, sat in it and laid +the garment in her lap. "I didn't know you knew how to sew." + +"I don't." The girl at the machine laughed. "Those Simcoe children +didn't have a dress to change in, and I'm practising on some skirts +and waists for them. Every day I'm finding out something else I don't +know how to do. I seem to have been taught a good many things there is +no special need of knowing, and very few I can make use of down here." + +"You didn't expect to come down here when you were learning things, +did you?" Carmencita's eyes were gravely watching the efforts being +made to thread the machine's needle. "I guess when you were a little +girl you didn't know there were things like you see down here. What +made you come here, Miss Frances? You didn't have to. What made you +come?" + +Into the fine fair face color crept slowly, and for a moment a sudden +frown ridged the high forehead from which the dark hair, parted and +brushed back, waved into a loose knot at the back of her head; then +she laughed, and her dark eyes looked into Carmencita's blue ones. + +"Why did I come?" The gingham dress on which she had been sewing was +folded carefully. "I came to find out some of the things I did not +know about. I wasn't of any particular use to anybody else. No one +needed me. I had a life on my hands that I didn't know what to do +with, and I thought perhaps--" + +"You could use it down here? You could use a dozen down here, but you +weren't meant not to get married. Aren't you ever going to get +married, Miss Frances?" + +"I hardly think I will." Frances Barbour got up and pushed the machine +against the wall. "The trouble about getting married is marrying the +right man. One so often doesn't. I wouldn't like to make a mistake." +Again she smiled. + +"Don't see how you could make a mistake. Isn't there some way you can +tell?" + +"My dear Carmencita!" Stooping, the child's face was lifted and +kissed. "I'm not a bit interested in men or marriage. They belong +to--to a long, long time ago. I'm interested now in little girls like +you, and in boys, and babies, and gingham dresses, and Christmas +trees, and night classes, and the Dramatic School for the children who +work, and--" + +"I'm interested in them, too, but I'm going to get married when I'm +big enough. I know you work awful hard down here, but it wasn't what +you were born for. I'm always feeling, right inside me, right +here"--Carmencita's hand was laid on her breast--"that you aren't +going to stay here long, and it makes an awful sink sometimes. You'll +go away and forget us, and get married, and go to balls and parties +and wear satin slippers with buckles on them, and dance, and I'd do +it, too, if I were you. Only--only I wish sometimes you hadn't come. +It will be so much harder when you go away." + +"But I'm not going away." At the little white bureau in the plainly +furnished room of Mother McNeil's "Home," Frances stuck the pins +brought from the machine into the little cushion and nodded gaily to +the child now standing by her side. "I've tried the parties and balls +and--all the other things, and for a while they were very nice; and +then one day I found I was spending all my time getting ready for them +and resting from them, and there was never time for anything else. If +I had died it would not have mattered the least bit that I had lived. +And--" + +"Didn't you have a sweetheart that it mattered to? Not even one?" + +Into hers Carmencita's eyes were looking firmly, and, turning from +them, Frances made effort to laugh; then her face whitened. + +"One can never be sure how much things matter to others, Carmencita. +We can only be sure of how much they matter--to us. But it was +Christmas we were to talk about. It's much nicer to talk about +Christmas. We can't talk very long, for I meet the 'Little Mothers' at +half past six, and after that I--" + +"And I've got to go at half past five to meet Father when he's through +with that wedding up-town, and then we're going shopping. I've got a +lot to talk about. The Beckwith babies are awful sick. I guess it +would be a good thing if they were to die. They are always having +colic and cramps and croup, and they've got a coughing mother and a +lazy father; but they won't die. Some babies never will. Did you know +Mr. Rheinhimer had been on another spree?" Carmencita, feet fastened +in the rounds of her chair, elbows on knees, and chin in the palms of +her hand, nodded affirmatively at the face in front of her. "Worst one +yet. He smashed all the window-panes in the bedroom, and broke two +legs of their best chairs doing it, and threw the basin and pitcher +out of the window. He says he'd give any man living five hundred +dollars, if he had it, if he'd live with his wife a month and not +shake her. She is awful aggravating. She's always in curl papers, and +don't wear corsets, and nags him to death. She says she wishes you'd +send him to a cure or something. And I want to tell you about Father's +present." + +For twenty minutes they talked long and earnestly. Carmencita's list +of names and number of pennies were gone over again and again, and +when at last she got up to go the perplexities of indecision and +adjustment were mainly removed, and she sighed with satisfaction. + +"I'm very much obliged to you for helping me fix it." The piece of +paper was carefully pinned to the inside of the coat. "I'm not going +to get anything but Father's present to-night. I won't have to go to +school to-morrow, and I want the buying to last as long as possible. +Isn't it funny the way Christmas makes you feel?" + +Carmencita's hands came suddenly together, and, pressing them on her +breast, her eyes grew big and shining. Standing first on one foot and +then on the other, she swayed slightly forward, then gave a leap in +the air. + +"I can't help it, Miss Frances, I really can't! It's something inside +me--something that makes me wish I was all the world's mother! And +I'm so squirmy and thrilly and shivery, thinking of the things I'd do +if I could, that sometimes I'm bound to jump--just bound to! I'm +almost sure something nice is going to happen. Did you ever feel that +way, Miss Frances?" + +"I used to feel that way." The clear dark eyes for a moment turned +from the eager ones of the child. "It's a very nice way to feel. When +one is young--though perhaps it is not so much youth as hope in the +heart, and love, and--" + +"I don't love everybody. I loathe Miss Cattie Burns. She's the very +old dev--I promised Father I wouldn't say even a true mean thing +about anybody for a month, and I've done it twice! I'd much rather +love people, though. I love to love! It makes you feel so nice and +warm and homey. If I had a house I'd have everybody I know--I mean all +the nice everybodies--to spend Christmas with me. Isn't it funny that +at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for--for--I don't know +what for, exactly, but it's something you don't mind so much not +having at other times." + +Carmencita's arms opened to their full length, then circled slowly, +and her hands crossed around her neck. "It's the time to wipe out and +forget things, Father says. It's the home-time and the heart-time +and--" In her voice was sudden anxiety. "You are not going away for +Christmas are you, Miss Frances?" + +"Not for Christmas eve." She hesitated. "I'm not quite sure what I'm +going to do on Christmas day. My people live in different places and +far apart. It is all very different from what it used to be. When one +is alone--" + +She stopped abruptly and, going over to the window, looked down on the +street below; and Carmencita, watching, saw the face turned from hers +twist in sudden pain. For a moment she stood puzzled and helpless. +Something she did not understand was troubling, something in which she +could not help. What was it? + +"You couldn't be alone at Christmas, Miss Frances." Slowly she came +toward the window, and shyly her hand slipped into that of her friend. +"There are too many wanting you. Father and I can't give fine presents +or have a fine dinner, but there wouldn't be words in which to tell +you how thankful we'd be if you'd spend it with us. Would you--would +you come to us, Miss Frances?" + +Into the eager blue eyes looking up the dark eyes looked down, and, +looking, grew misty. "Dear child, I'd come to you if I were here, but +I do not think I'll be here." Her head went up as if impatient with +herself. "I'm going away on Christmas day--going--" She took out her +watch hurriedly and looked at it. "It's after half past five, +Carmencita. You will have to hurry or you won't see the wedding guests +go in. Good-by, dear. Have a good time and tuck away all you see to +tell me later. I will be so busy between now and Christmas, there will +be no time for talking, but after Christmas--Why, you've got on your +straw hat, Carmencita! Where is the winter one Miss Cattie gave you? +She told me she had given you a perfectly good hat that would last a +long time." + +"She did." Carmencita's hands were stuck in the deep pockets of her +long coat, and again her big blue eyes were raised to her friend's. +"It would have lasted for ever if it hadn't got burned up. It fell in +the fire and got burned up." Out in the hall she hesitated, then came +back, opened the door, and put her head in. "It did get burned up, +Miss Frances. I burned it. Good-by." + +Late into the night Frances Barbour sat at her desk in the bare and +poorly furnished room which she now called hers, and wrote letters, +settled accounts, wrapped bundles, assorted packages, and made lists +of matters to be attended to on the next day. When at last through, +with the reaction that comes from overtired body and nerves she leaned +back in her chair and let her hands fall idly in her lap, and with +eyes that saw not looked across at the windows, on whose panes bits of +hail were tapping weirdly. For some minutes thought was held in +abeyance; then suddenly she crossed her arms on the table, and her +face was hidden in them. + +"Oh, Stephen! Stephen!" Under her breath the words came wearily. "We +were so foolish, Stephen; such silly children to give each other up! +All through the year I know, but never as I do at Christmas. And +we--we are each other's, Stephen!" With a proud uplifting of her head +she got up. "I am a child," she said, "a child who wants what it once +refused to have. But until he understood--" Quickly she put out the +light. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +He was ashamed of himself for being ashamed. Why on earth should he +hesitate to tell Peterkin he would dine alone on Christmas day? It was +none of Peterkin's business how he dined, or where, or with whom. And +still he had not brought himself to the point of informing Peterkin, +by his order for dinner at home, that he was not leaving town for the +holidays, that he was not invited to dine with any one else, and that +there was no one he cared to invite to dine with him. It was the 22d +of December, and the custodian in charge of his domestic arrangements +had not yet been told what his plans were for the 25th. He had no +plans. + +He might go, of course, to one of his clubs. But worse than telling +Peterkin that he would dine alone would be the public avowal of having +nowhere to go which dining at the club would not only indicate, but +affirm. Besides, at Christmas a club was ghastly, and the few who +dropped in had a half-shamed air at being there and got out as quickly +as possible. He could go to Hallsboro, but Hallsboro no longer bore +even a semblance to the little town in which he had been born--had, +indeed, become something of a big city, bustling, busy, and new, and +offensively up-to-date; and nowhere else did he feel so much a +stranger as in the place he had once called home. He was but twelve +when his parents moved away, and eight months later died within a week +of each other, and for years he had not been back. Had there been +brothers and sisters--Well, there were no brothers and sisters, and by +this time he should be used to the fact that he was very much alone in +the world. + +Hands in his pockets, Stephen Van Landing leaned back in his chair and +looked across the room at a picture on the wall. He did not see the +picture; he saw, instead, certain things that were not pleasant to +see. No, he would not go to Hallsboro for Christmas. + +Turning off the light in his office and closing the door with +unnecessary energy, Van Landing walked down the hall to the elevator, +then turned away and toward the steps. Reaching the street, he +hesitated as to the car he should take, whether one up-town to his +club or one across to his apartment, and as he waited he watched the +hurrying crowd with eyes in which were baffled impatience and +perplexity. It was incomprehensible, the shopping craze at this season +of the year. He wished there was no such season. Save for his very +young childhood there were few happy memories connected with it, but +only of late, only during the past few years, had the recurrence +awakened within him a sort of horror, its approach a sense of +loneliness that was demoralizing, and its celebration an emptiness in +life that chilled and depressed beyond all reason. Why was it that as +it drew near a feeling of cowardice so possessed him that he wanted to +go away, go anywhere and hide until it was over, go where he could not +see what it meant to others? It was humanity's home-time, and he had +no home. Why-- + +"An ass that brays is wiser than the man who asks what can't be +answered," he said, under his breath. "For the love of Heaven, quit +it! Why-ing in a man is as inexcusable as whining in a woman. There's +my car--crowded, of course!" + +For some minutes longer he waited for a car on which there was chance +to get a foothold, then, buttoning his overcoat, put his hands in his +pockets and began the walk to his club. The season had been mild so +far, but a change was coming, and the two days left for Christmas +shopping would doubtless be stormy ones. On the whole, it might be +fortunate. There was a good deal of nonsense in this curious custom of +once a year getting on a giving jag, which was about what Christmas +had degenerated into, and if something could prevent the dementia that +possessed many people at this season it should be welcomed. It had +often puzzled him, the behavior of the human family at this so-called +Christian holiday in which tired people were overworked, poor people +bought what they couldn't afford, and the rich gave unneeded things to +the rich and were given unwanted ones in return. The hands of all +people--all places--had become outstretched. It wasn't the giving of +money that mattered. But what did matter was the hugeness of the habit +which was commercializing a custom whose origin was very far removed +from the spirit of the day. + +With a shrug of his shoulders he shoved his hands deeper down into +his pockets. "Quit again," he said, half aloud. "What do you know of +the spirit of the day?" + +Not only of the spirit of the day did he know little, but of late with +acute conviction it was dawning on him that he knew little of many +other things. Certainly he was getting little out of life. For a +while, after professional recognition had come to him, and with it +financial reward, he had tested society, only to give it up and settle +down to still harder work during the day and his books when the day +was done. The only woman he had ever wanted to marry had refused to +marry him. His teeth came down on his lips. He still wanted her. In +all the world there was but one woman he loved or could love, and for +three years he had not seen her. It was his fault. He was to blame. It +had taken him long to see it, but he saw it now. There had been a +difference of opinion, a frank revealing of opposing points of view, +and he had been told that she would not surrender her life to the +selfishness that takes no part in activities beyond the interests of +her own home. He had insisted that when a woman marries said home and +husband should alone claim her time and heart, and in the multitude +of demands which go into the cultural and practical development of a +home out of a house there would be sufficient opportunity for the +exercise of a woman's brain and ability. He had been such a fool. What +right had he to limit her, or she him? It had all been so silly and +such a waste, such a horrible waste of happiness. + +For she had loved him. She was not a woman to love lightly, as he was +not a man, and hers was the love that glorifies life. And he had lost +it. That is, he had lost her. Three years ago she had broken their +engagement. Two years of this time had been spent abroad. A few months +after their return her mother died and her home was given up. Much of +the time since her mother's death had been spent with her married +sisters, who lived in cities far separated from one another, but not +for some weeks had he heard anything concerning her. He did not even +know where she was, or where she would be Christmas. + +"Hello, Van!" + +The voice behind made him turn. The voice was Bleeker McVeigh's. + +"Where are the wedding garments? Don't mean you're not going!" + +"Going where?" Van Landing fell into step. "Whose wedding?" + +McVeigh lighted a fresh cigarette. "You ought to be hung. I tell you +now you won't be bidden to my wedding. Why did you tell Jockie you'd +come, if you didn't intend to?" + +Van Landing stopped and for a minute stared at the man beside him. "I +forgot this was the twenty-second," he said. "Tell Jock I'm dead. I +wish I were for a week." + +"Ought to be dead." McVeigh threw his match away. "A man who ignores +his fellow-beings as you've ignored yours of late has no right to +live. Better look out. Don't take long to be forgotten. Good night." + +It was true that it didn't take long to be forgotten. He had been +finding that out rather dismally of late, finding out also that a good +many things Frances had told him about himself were true. Her eyes +could be so soft and lovely and appealing; they were wonderful eyes, +but they could blaze as well. And she was right. He was selfish and +conventional and intolerant. That is, he had been. He wished he could +forget her eyes. In all ways possible to a man of his type he had +tried to forget, but forgetting was beyond his power. Jock had loved +half a dozen women and this afternoon he was to be married to his last +love. Were he on Jock's order he might have married. He wasn't on +Jock's order. + +Reaching his club, he started to go up the steps, then turned and +walked away. To go in would provoke inquiry as to why he was not at +the wedding. He took out his watch. It was twenty minutes of the hour +set for the ceremony. He had intended to go, but--Well, he had +forgotten, and was glad of it. He loathed weddings. + +As he reached the building in which was his apartment he again +hesitated and again walked on. An unaccountable impulse led him in the +direction of the house, a few blocks away, in which his friend was to +be married, and as he neared it he crossed the street and in the +darkness of the late afternoon looked with eyes, half mocking, half +amazed, at the long line of limousines which stretched from one end of +the block to the other. At the corner he stopped. For some minutes he +stood looking at the little group of people who made effort to press +closer to the entrance of the awning which stretched from door to +curbing, then turned to go, when he felt a hand touch him lightly on +the arm. + +"If you will come up to the top of the steps you can see much better," +he heard a voice say. "I've seen almost everybody go in. I just ran +down to tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Turning, Van Landing looked into the little face upraised to his, then +lifted his hat. She was so enveloped in the big coat which came to her +heels that for half a moment he could not tell whether she was ten or +twenty. Then he smiled. + +"Thank you," he said. "I don't know that I care to see. I don't know +why I stopped." + +"Oh, but it is perfectly grand, seeing them is! You can see everything +up there"--a little bare hand was waved behind her in the direction of +the porch--"and nothing down here. And you looked like you wanted to +see. There have been kings and queens, and princes and princesses, and +dukes and duchesses, and sirs, and--" She looked up. "What's the lady +name for sir? 'Tisn't siress, is it?" + +"I believe not." Van Landing laughed. "I didn't know there was so much +royalty in town." "There is. They are royals--that kind of people." +Her hand pointed in the direction of the house from which could be +heard faint strains of music. "They live in palaces, and wave wands, +and eat out of gold plates, and wear silk stockings in the morning, +and--oh, they do everything that's splendid and grand and magnificent +and--" + +"Do you think people are splendid and grand and magnificent because +they live in palaces and wear--" + +"Goodness gracious!" The big blue eyes surveyed the speaker with +uncertainty. "Are you one of them, too?" + +"One what?" + +"Damanarkists. Mr. Leimberg is one. He hates people who live in +palaces and wave wands and have _dee_-licious things to eat. He don't +believe in it. Mr. Ripple says it's because he's a damanarkist and +very dangerous. Mr. Leimberg thinks men like Mr. Ripple ought to be +tarred and feathered. He says he'd take the very last cent a person +had and give it to blood-suckers like that"--and again the red little +hand was waved toward the opposite side of the street. "Mr. Ripple +collects our rent. I guess it does take a lot of money to live in a +palace, but I'd live in one if I could, though I'd try not to be very +particular about rents and things. And I'd have chicken-pie for dinner +every day and hot oysters for supper every night; and I'd ask some +little girls sometimes to come and see me--that is, I think I would. +But maybe I wouldn't. It's right easy to forget in a palace, I guess. +Oh, look--there's somebody else going in! Hurry, mister, or you won't +see!" + +Following the child up the flight of stone steps, Van Landing stood at +the top and looked across at the arriving cars, whose occupants were +immediately lost to sight in the tunnel, as his new acquaintance +called it, and then he looked at her. + +Very blue and big and wonder-filled were her eyes, and, tense in the +effort to gain the last glimpse of the gorgeously gowned guests, she +stood on tiptoe, leaning forward eagerly, and suddenly Van Landing +picked her up and put her on top of the railing. Holding on to his +coat, the child laughed gaily. + +"Aren't we having a good time?" Her breath was drawn in joyously. +"It's almost as good as being inside. Wouldn't you like to be? I +would. I guess the bride is beautiful, with real diamonds on her +slippers and in her hair, and--" She looked down on Van Landing. "My +father is in there. He goes to 'most all the scrimptious weddings that +have harps to them. He plays on the harp when the minister is saying +the words. Do you think it is going to be a very long wedding?" + +A note of anxiety in the child's voice made Van Landing look at her +more closely, and as she raised her eyes to his something stirred +within him curiously. What an old little face it was! All glow and +eagerness, but much too thin and not half enough color, and the hat +over the loose brown curls was straw. + +"I don't think it will be long." His voice was cheerfully decisive. +"That kind is usually soon over. Most of a wedding's time is taken in +getting ready for it. Did you say your father was over there?" + +The child's head nodded. "They have a harp, so I know they are nice +people. Father can't give lessons any more, because he can't see but +just a teensy, weensy bit when the sun is shining. He used to play on +a big organ, and we used to have oysters almost any time, but that was +before Mother died. Father was awful sick after she died, and there +wasn't any money, and when he got well he was almost blind, and he +can't teach any more, and 'most all he does now is weddings and +funerals. I love him to go to weddings. He makes the others tell him +everything they see, and then he tells me, and we have the grandest +time making out we were sure enough invited, and talking of what we +thought was the best thing to eat, and whose dress was the prettiest, +and which lady was the loveliest--Oh, my goodness! Look there!" + +Already some of the guests were departing; and Van Landing, looking at +his watch, saw it was twenty minutes past six. Obviously among those +present were some who failed to feel the enthusiasm for weddings that +his new friend felt. With a smile he put the watch away, and, placing +the child's feet more firmly on the railing, held her so that she +could rest against his shoulder. She could hardly be more than twelve +or thirteen, and undersized for that, but the oval face was one of +singular intelligence, and her eyes--her eyes were strangely like the +only eyes on earth he had ever loved, and as she settled herself more +comfortably his heart warmed curiously, warmed as it had not done for +years. Presently she looked down at him. + +"I don't think you're a damanarkist." Her voice was joyous. "You're +so nice. Can you see good?" + +"Very good. There isn't much to see. One might if it weren't for +that--" + +"Old tunnel! I don't think they ought to have them if it isn't snowing +or raining. Oh, I do hope Father can come out soon! If I tell you +something will you promise not to tell, not even say it to yourself +out loud?" Her face was raised to his. "I'm going to get Father's +Christmas present to-night. We're going down-town when he is through +over there. He can't see me buy it, and it's something he wants +dreadfully. I've been saving ever since last Christmas. It's going to +cost two dollars and seventy-five cents." The eager voice trailed off +into an awed whisper. "That's an awful lot to spend on something +you're not bound to have, but Christmas isn't like any other time. I +spend millions in my mind at Christmas. Have you bought all your +things, Mr.--Mr.--don't even know your name." She laughed. "What's +your name, Mr. Man?" + +Van Landing hesitated. Caution and reserve were inherent +characteristics. Before the child's eyes they faded. + +"Van Landing," he said. "Stephen Van Landing." + +"Mine is Carmencita. Father named me that because when I was a teensy +baby I kicked my feet so, and loved my tambourine best of all my +things. Have you bought all your Christmas gifts, Mr. Van--I don't +remember the other part." + +"I haven't any to buy--and no one to buy for. That is--" + +"Good gracious!" The child turned quickly; in her eyes and voice +incredulity was unrestrained. "I didn't know there was anybody in all +the world who didn't have anybody to buy for! Are you--are you very +poor, Mr. Van? You look very nice." + +"I think I must be very poor." Van Landing fastened his glasses more +securely on his nose. "I'm quite sure of it. It has been long since I +cared to buy Christmas presents. I give a few, of course, but--" + +"And don't you have Christmas dinner at home, and hang up your +stocking, and buy toys and things for children, and hear the music in +the churches? I know a lot of carols. Father taught me. I'll sing one +for you. Want me? Oh, I believe they are coming out! Father said they +wouldn't want him as long as the others. If I lived in a palace and +was a royal lady I'd have a harp longer than anything else, but Father +says it's on account of the food. Food is awful high, and people would +rather eat than hear harps. Oh, there's Father! I must go, Mr. Van. +Thank you ever so much for holding me." + +With a movement that was scientific in its dexterity the child slipped +from Van Landing's arms and jumped from the railing to the porch, and +without so much as a turn of the head ran down the steps and across +the street. Darting in between two large motor-cars, Van Landing saw +her run forward and take the hand of a man who was standing near the +side-entrance of the house in which the wedding had taken place. It +was too dark to distinguish his face, and in the confusion following +the calling of numbers and the hurrying off of guests he felt +instinctively that the man shrank back, as is the way of the blind, +and an impulse to go over and lead him away made him start down the +steps. + +At the foot he stopped. To go over was impossible. He would be +recognized. For half a moment he hesitated. It was his dinner hour, +and he should go home; but he didn't want to go home. The stillness +and orderliness of his handsome apartment was suddenly irritating. It +seemed a piece of mechanism made to go so smoothly and noiselessly +that every element of humanness was lacking in it; and with something +of a shiver he turned down the street and in the direction opposite to +that wherein he lived. The child's eyes had stirred memories that must +be kept down; and she was right. He was a poor man. He had a house, +but no home, and he had no Christmas presents to buy. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +"Mr. Van! Mr. Van!" + +He turned quickly. Behind, his new-made acquaintance was making effort +to run, but to run and still hold the hand of her father was +difficult. With a smile he stopped. + +"Oh, Mr. Van!" The words came breathlessly. "I was so afraid we would +lose you! Father can't cross quick, and once I couldn't see you. Here +he is, Father." She took Van Landing's hand and laid it in her +father's. "He can tell by hands," she said, "whether you're a nice +person or not. I told him you didn't have anybody, and--" + +Van Landing's hand for a moment lay in the stranger's, then he shook +the latter's warmly and again raised his hat. In the circle of light +caused by the electric lamp near which they stood the blind man's face +could be seen distinctly, and in it was that one sees but rarely in +the faces of men, and in Van Landing's throat came sudden tightening. + +"Oh, sir, I cannot make her understand, cannot keep her from talking +to strangers!" The troubled voice was of a strange quality for so +shabbily clothed a body, and in the eyes that saw not, and which were +lifted to Van Landing's, was sudden terror. "She believes all people +to be her friends. I cannot always be with her, and some day--" + +"But, Father, you said that whoever didn't have any friends must be +our friend, because--because that's all we can be--just friends. And +he hasn't any. I mean anybody to make Christmas for. He said so +himself. And can't he go with us to-night and see the shops? I know +he's nice, Father. Please, please let him!" + +The look of terrified helplessness which for a moment swept over the +gentle face, wherein suffering and sorrow had made deep impress, but +in which was neither bitterness nor complaint, stirred the heart +within him as not for long it had been stirred, and quickly Van +Landing spoke. + +"It may not be a good plan generally, but this time it was all right," +he said. "She spoke to me because she thought I could not see what +was going on across the street, and very kindly shared her better +position with me. I--" He hesitated. His name would mean nothing to +the man before him. Their worlds were very different worlds. It was +possible, however, that this gentle, shrinking creature, with a face +so spiritualized by life's denials that it shamed him as he looked, +knew more of his, Van Landing's, world than he of the blind man's, and +suddenly, as if something outside himself directed, he yielded to a +strange impulse. + +It was true, what the child had said. He had few friends--that is, +friends in the sense the child meant. Of acquaintances he had many, +very many. At his club, in business, in a rather limited social set, +he knew a number of people well, but friends--If he were to die +to-morrow his going would occasion but the usual comment he had often +heard concerning others. Some years ago he had found himself +continually entertaining what he called his friends, spending foolish +sums of money on costly dinners, and quite suddenly he had quit. As +long as he entertained he was entertained in return, and for some time +after he stopped he still received invitations of many sorts, but in +cynical realization of the unsatisfactoriness of his manner of life +he had given it up, and in its place had come nothing to answer the +hunger of his heart for comradeship and human cheer. His opinion of +life had become unhealthy. As an experience for which one is not +primarily responsible it had to be endured, but out of it he had +gotten little save what men called success; and that, he had long +since found, though sweet in the pursuit, was bitter in achievement if +there was no one who cared--and for his nobody really cared. This +blind man with the shabby clothes and ill-nourished body was richer +than he. He had a child who loved him and whom he loved. + +"It is true what your little girl has told you." Van Landing took off +his glasses and wiped them. "I have no one to make Christmas for, and +if you don't mind I wish you would let me go with you to the shops +to-night. I don't know much about Christmas buying. My presents are +chiefly given in mon----I mean I don't know any little children." + +"And I know forty billion!" Carmencita's arms were outstretched and +her hands came together with ecstatic emphasis. "If I didn't stop to +blink my eyes between now and Christmas morning I couldn't buy fast +enough to fill all the stockings of the legs I know if I had the money +to buy with. There's Mrs. McTarrens's four, and the six Blickers, and +the ashman's eight, and the Roysters, and little Sallie Simcoe, and +old Mr. Jenkinson, and Miss Becky who mends pants and hasn't any front +teeth, and Mr. Leimberg. I'd get him specs. He has to hold his book +like this"--and the palms of two little red hands were held close to +Carmencita's eyes. "Oh, Father, please let him go!" + +Hesitating, the blind man's eyes were again upturned, and again Van +Landing spoke. + +"You are right to be careful; but you need not fear. My name is Van +Landing, and my office--" + +"You are a gentleman!" Two hands with their long slender fingers were +outstretched, and swiftly they stroked Van Landing's arms and body and +face. "Your voice, your hands, tell me your class, and your clothes +that you have money. Why--oh, why do you want to go with us?" Quickly +his right hand drew his child toward him, and in terror he pressed her +to his side. "She is my all, my light, my life! Away from her I am in +darkness you could not understand. No, you must not go with us. You +must go away and leave us!" + +For a moment Van Landing hesitated, puzzled by the sudden fear in the +man's face, then over his own crept grayness, and the muscles in it +stiffened. + +"My God!" he said, and his mouth grew dry. "Have men brought men to +this?" + +For another half-moment there was silence which the child, looking +from one to the other, could not understand, and her hands, pressed +close to her breast, gripped tightly her cold fingers. Presently Van +Landing turned. + +"Very well," he said. "I will go. It was just that I know little of a +real Christmas. Good night." + +"Oh, don't go--don't go, Mr. Van! It's going to be Christmas two days +after to-morrow, Father, and the Christ-child wouldn't like it if you +let him go!" Carmencita held the sleeve of Van Landing's coat with a +sturdy clutch. "He isn't a damanarkist. I can tell by his eyes. They +are so lonely-looking. You aren't telling a story, are you Mr. Van? Is +it truly truth that you haven't anybody?" + +"It is truly truth," he said. "I mean anybody to make Christmas for." + +"No mother or father or a little girl like me? Haven't you even got a +wife?" + +"Not even a wife." Van Landing smiled. + +"You are as bad as Miss Barbour. She hasn't anybody, either, now, she +says, 'most everybody being--" + +"Miss who?" Van Landing turned so sharply that the child jumped. "Who +did you say?" + +"Miss Barbour." The eyes which were so like those he could not forget +were raised to his. "If you knew Miss Barbour she could tell you of +plenty of people to make Christmas for. She's living right now with +Mother McNeil, who isn't really anybody's mother, but just +everybody's. But she don't live there all the time. Most of her people +are dead or married and don't need her, so she came to Mother McNeil +to see how children down there live. What's the matter, Mr. Van?" + +To hide the upleaping flame in his face and the sudden trembling of +his hands Van Landing stooped down and picked up the handkerchief he +had dropped; then he stepped back and out of the circle of light in +which he had been standing. For a moment he did not speak lest his +voice be as unsteady as his hands, but, taking out his watch, he +looked at it, then put it back with fumbling fingers. + +"Her first name--Miss Barbour's first name," he said, and the dryness +of his throat made his words a little indistinct. "What is it?" + +With mouth rounded into a little ball, Carmencita blew on her stiff +finger-tips. "Frances," she said, and first one foot and then the +other was stamped for purpose of warmth. "The damanarkist says God +made her, but the devil has more to do with most women than anybody +else. He don't like women. Do you know her, Mr. Van?" + +"If your friend is my friend--I know her very well," he said, and put +his hands in his pockets to hide the twitching of his fingers. "A long +time ago she was the only real friend I had, and I lost her. I have +wanted very much to find her." + +"Oh, Father, if he knows Miss Barbour he's bound to be all right!" +Carmencita's arms were flung above her head and down again, and on her +tiptoes she danced gaily round and round. "We can show him where she +lives." She stopped. "No, we can't. She told me I must never do that. +I mustn't send any one to her, but I could tell her of anybody I +wanted her to know about." Head uplifted, her eyes searched Van +Landing's, and her words came in an awed whisper, "Was--was she your +sweetheart, Mr. Van?" + +"She was." Again Van Landing wiped his forehead. It didn't in the +least matter that he was telling to this unknown child the most +personal of matters. Nothing mattered but that perhaps he might find +Frances. "You must take me to her," he said. "I must see her +to-night." + +"I can't take you to see her to-night. She wouldn't like it. Oh, I +know!" Carmencita made another rapid whirl. "We can go down-town and +get"--she nodded confidentially to her new-made friend and pointed her +finger in her father's direction--"and then we can come back and have +some toast and tea; and then I'll send for Miss Barbour to come quick, +as I need her awful, and when she comes in you can say: 'Oh, my lost +and loved one, here I am! We will be married right away, this minute!' +I read that in a book once. Won't it be grand? But you won't--" The +dancing ceased, and her hands stiffened in sudden anxiety. "You won't +take her away, will you?" + +"If she will come with me I will not take her where she won't come +back. Can't we start?" + +But the child was obdurate. She would do nothing until her purchase +was made, and to her entreaties her father finally yielded, and a few +minutes later Van Landing and his new acquaintances were on a +down-town car, bound for a shopping district as unknown to him as the +shops in which he was accustomed to deal were unknown to them. + +Still a bit dazed by his chance discovery, he made no comment on the +child's continual chatter, but let her exuberance and delight have +full play while he tried to adjust himself to a realization that made +all thought but a chaotic mixture of hope and doubt, of turbulent fear +and determined purpose, and of one thing only was he sure. Three years +of his life had been wasted. Another hour should not be lost were it +in his power to prevent. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +When the store was reached Van Landing for the first time was able to +see distinctly the faces of Carmencita and her father, and as for a +moment he watched the slim little body in its long coat, once the +property, undoubtedly, of a much bigger person, saw her eager, +wonder-filled eyes, and the wistful mouth which had learned to smile +at surrender, the strings of his heart twisted in protest, and for the +"damanarkist" of whom she had spoken, for the moment he had sympathy +of which on yesterday there would have been no understanding. She +could not be more than twelve or thirteen, he thought, but condition +and circumstance had made her a woman in many matters, and the art of +shopping she knew well. Slowly, very slowly, she made her way to the +particular counter at which her precious purchase was to be made, +lingering here and there to gaze at things as much beyond her hope of +possession as the stars of heaven; and, following her slow-walking, +Van Landing could see her eyes brighten and yearn, her lips move, her +hand outstretch to touch and then draw back quickly, and also every +now and then he could see her shake her head. + +"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you do that? Is there anything in here +you would like to get, besides the thing you came for?" + +"Anything I'd like to get!" The words were repeated as if not heard +aright. "Anybody would know you'd never been a girl. There isn't much +in here I wouldn't like to get if I didn't have to pay for it." + +"But not rattles and dolls and drums and pop-guns and boxing-gloves +and all the other things you've looked at. Girls of your age--" + +"This girl wasn't looking at them for herself. I'm 'most grown up now. +But everybody on our street has got a baby, and a lot of children +besides. Mrs. Perry has twins and a baby, and Mrs. Latimer always has +two on a bottle at the same time. I'm just buying things in my mind. +It's the only way I can buy 'em, and Christmas wouldn't be Christmas +if you couldn't buy some way. Sallie Simcoe will go crazy if she don't +get a doll that whistles. She saw one in a window once. It was a +Whistling Jim and cost a dollar. She won't get it. Oh, here it is, Mr. +Van! Here's the counter where the jewelry things are." + +As she neared it she nodded to Van Landing and pointed to her father, +who, hand on her shoulder, had kept close to her, then beckoned him to +come nearer. "He can't see, I know"--her voice was excited--"but take +him away, won't you? I wouldn't have him guess it, not for _anything_ +on earth! I'll be through in a minute." + +In moments incredibly few, but to Van Landing tormentingly long, she +was back again, and close to her heart she was hugging a tiny package +with one hand, while the other was laid on her father's arm. "I got +it," she whispered; "it's perfectly beautiful." She spoke louder. "I +guess we'd better be going now. I know you're hungry, and so am I. +Come on. We can walk home, and then I'll make the tea." + +For a second Van Landing hesitated, then he followed the odd-looking +couple out into the street, but as they started to turn the corner he +stopped. + +"I say"--he cleared his throat to hide its embarrassed +hesitation--"don't you want to do me a favor? Where I live I don't +buy the things I eat, and I've often thought I'd like to. If you are +going to make the tea and toast, why can't I get the--the chicken, +say, and some salad and things? That's a good-looking window over +there with cooked stuff in it. We'll have a party and each put in +something." + +"Chicken?" Into his face the child gazed with pitying comprehension of +his ignorance, and in her voice was shrill amusement. "_Chicken!_ Did +you ever price one? I have, when I'm having kings and queens taking +dinner with me in my mind. People don't have chicken 'cept at +Christmas, and sometimes Sundays if there hasn't been anybody out of +work for a long time. Come on. I've got a box of sardines. Just think, +Father, he wants to buy a _chicken_!" + +With a gay little laugh in which was shrewd knowledge of the +unthinkableness of certain indulgences, the child slipped one arm +through her father's and another through Van Landing's, and with a +happy skip led the way down the poorly lighted street. A solid mass of +dreary-looking houses, with fronts unrelieved by a distinguishing +feature, stretched as far as the eye could see, and when a few blocks +had been walked it was with a sense of relief that a corner was +turned and Van Landing found himself at the foot of a flight of steps +up which the child bounded and beckoned him to follow. + +The house was like the others, one of a long row, and dull and dark +and dingy, but from its basement came a baby's wailing, while from the +floor above, as the hall was entered, could be heard the rapid click +of a sewing-machine. Four flights of steps were mounted; then +Carmencita took the key from her father's pocket and opened the door. + +"This is our suite," she said, and courtesied low. "Please strike a +match, if you have one, Mr. Van. This house is very old, and history +houses don't have electric lights. The ghosts wouldn't like it. Some +of my best friends are ghosts. I'll be back in a minute." + +As she ran into the little hall room adjoining the large room which he +saw comprised their "suite," Van Landing lighted the lamp near the +mantel and looked around. In the center was a marble-topped table, and +on it a lamp, a work-basket, and several magazines with backs half +gone. The floor was bare save for a small and worn rug here and there, +and on the sills of the uncurtained windows two hardy geraniums were +blooming bravely. A chest of drawers, a few chairs, a shelf of books, +a rug-covered cot, a corner cupboard, a wash-stand behind a screen, +and a small table near the stove, behind which a box of wood could be +seen, completed its furnishings; and still, despite its bareness, +there was something in it which was not in the place wherein he lived, +and wonderingly he again looked around. Had he found himself in the +moon or at the bottom of the Dead Sea it would be hardly less +remarkable than finding himself here. Adventures of this sort were +entirely out of his experience. As regulated as a piece of machinery +his life had become of late, and the routine of office and club and +house had been accepted as beyond escape, and the chance meeting of +this little creature-- + +"Oh, my goodness! I forgot to put the kettle on!" + +With a spring that came apparently from the door opposite the stove +near which he was standing Carmencita was by his side, and, swift +movement following swift movement, the lid of the stove was lifted, +wood put in, the kettle of water put on, and the table drawn farther +out in the floor. A moment more the lamp was lighted, her father's +coat and hat in place, his chair drawn up to the now roaring fire; +then, with speculation in her eyes, she stood for half a moment, hands +on hips, looking first at Van Landing and then at the cupboard in the +corner. + +For the first time he saw well the slender little body out of its +long, loose coat, the heavy, brown curls which tumbled over the oval +face, the clear eyes that little escaped, so keen was their quality, +and the thin legs with their small feet in large shoes, and as he +looked he smiled. + +"Well," he asked, "can I help you? You seem very uncertain." + +"I am. Put your hat and coat over there"--she pointed to the covered +cot close to the wall--"then come back and tell me." + +He did as directed and, hands in pockets, stood again in front of her. +"Is"--his face whitened--"is it about Miss Barbour? Can you send her +word?" + +"Send now? I guess not!" On tiptoes the child looked for something on +the mantel-piece. "We haven't had supper yet, and I'm so hungry I +could eat air. Besides, she has a class to-night--The Little Big +Sisters. I'm one when I can go, but I can't go often." She waved her +hand in the direction of her father. "I'll send for her 'bout half +past nine. Which do you like best, sardines with lemon on 'em, or +toasted cheese on toast with syrup afterward? Which?" + +The tone was one of momentous inquiry. Miss Barbour's coming was a +matter that could wait, but supper necessitated a solemn decision +which must be made at once. Hands clasped behind her, the blue eyes +grew big with suspense, and again she repeated, "Which?" + +"I really don't know. Both are very good. I believe I like sardines +better than--Oh no, I don't." He had caught the flicker of +disappointment in the anxious little face. "I mean I think toasted +cheese the best thing to eat that's going. Let's have that!" + +"All right." With another spring the child was at the cupboard, and +swiftly she went to work. "Read to father, won't you?" she called, +without looking round. "In that magazine with the geranium leaf +sticking out is where I left off. You'll have to read right loud." + +Drawing his chair close to the lighted lamp, Van Landing took his seat +near the blind musician, and for the first time noticed the slender, +finely formed fingers of the hands now resting on the arms of the +chair in which he sat; noticed the shiny, well-worn coat and the lock +of white hair that fell across the high forehead; saw the sensitive +mouth; and as he looked he wondered as to the story that was his. An +old one, perhaps. Born of better blood than his present position +implied, he had evidently found the battle of life more than he was +equal to, and, unfit to fight, he had doubtless slipped down and down +in the scale of human society until to-day he and his child were +dwellers on the borderland of the slums. + +He found the article and began to read. The technicalities of musical +composition had never appealed to him, but, though by him the writer's +exhaustive knowledge of his subject was not appreciated, by his +listener it was greatly so, and, in tense eagerness to miss no word, +the latter leaned forward and kept his sightless eyes in the direction +of the sound of his voice. + +Not for long could he read, however. In a few moments Carmencita's +hands were outstretched, and, giving one to each, she led them to the +table, and at it he sat down as naturally as though it were a familiar +occurrence. In the center was a glass jar with a spray of red geranium +in it, and behind the earthen tea-pot the child presided with the +ease of long usage. As she gave him his tea he noticed it was in the +only unchipped cup, and on the one kept for herself there was no +handle. Under his breath he swore softly. Why--He mentally shook +himself. This was no time for why-ing. + +[Illustration: "WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR +TOASTED CHEESE ON TOAST?"] + +As an appetizer the toasted cheese on toasted bread was excellent, but +the supper--if she had only let him get it. He had not dared insist, +and never had he been more consciously a guest, but could people live +on fare so scant as this? It was like Frances to want to know how +other people lived--and not to be content with knowing. But after she +knew how could she sleep at night? Great God! If there was to be a day +of judgment what could men say--men like himself and his friends? + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +For half an hour longer Carmencita chatted gaily, offering dish after +dish of imaginary food with the assurance that it would cause no +sickness or discomfort, and at the child's spirit and imagination Van +Landing marveled. The years of ignorance and indifference, in which he +had not cared to know what Frances knew all men should know, came back +disquietingly, and he wondered if for him it were too late. + +As Carmencita got up to clear the table he took out his watch and +looked at it, then put it quickly back lest she should see. Who was +going to take the note? Why couldn't he go to the place at which was +held the class of Little Big Sisters and get Frances? With a quick +indrawing breath he handed his host cigars. + +"I hope you smoke," he said; "that is, if Carmencita does not object." + +"Oh, I don't object. Smoke!" Carmencita's hand was waved. "After I +wash the dishes I'll write the note, then I'll go down and get Noodles +to take it. I'll ask Mr. Robinsky to bring the harp up, Father. He +brought it home for us; he's a flute-er." The explanation was made to +Van Landing. "He always brings it home when Father and I are going +somewhere else. Smoke, please. I love to smell smoke smell." + +With a splash the remaining water in the tea-kettle was poured in the +dish-pan, and for a few moments the clatter of knives and forks and +spoons prevented talk. Over the blind man's face crept the content +that comes from a good cigar, and in silence he and his guest smoked +while Carmencita did her work. Not long was there silence, however, +for very shortly the child was on a stool at Van Landing's feet, in +her hands a pad of paper, and on her knee a backless magazine. + +For half a minute she looked in Van Landing's face. "Isn't it nice and +funny--your being here? I like you." Her voice was joyous. "If I tell +you something, you won't tell?" She leaned forward, hands on his +knees. "This afternoon before I went out I asked God please to let +something nice happen. There hasn't anything very nice happened for so +long, I was afraid He had forgot. What must I write, Mr. Van?" + +Into Van Landing's face the color surged, then died away and left it +strangely white. The child's eyes were holding his, and he did not try +to avoid them. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was to +get Frances quickly. + +"Tell her I must see her to-night, that I must come to her. Why can't +I go to her, Carmencita?" + +"Because she doesn't want anybody to come to see her that she doesn't +tell to come. She told me so herself, and I wouldn't break her rules +for a gold ring with a ruby in it. I know. I'll tell her I'm bound to +show her something to-night or I won't sleep a wink. And you'll be +_It_! You can go in Father's room, and when she comes in you will come +out and say--What will you say, Mr. Van?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps I sha'n't say anything. Sometimes one can't." + +"I'll look in that book I read once and see what he said, if you want +me to. It was a beautiful book. It had an awful lot of love in it. I +know what I'm going to write." + +For some moments she wrote laboriously on the pad, which wabbled +badly on her knees, then she folded the piece of paper and, getting +up, went toward the door. Van Landing followed her. + +"The boy," he said. "Will you give him this and tell him if the note +is delivered to Miss Barbour personally there will be more when he +comes back?" He held out his hand. + +As if not seeing aright, Carmencita looked closely at what was held +toward her, then up in Van Landing's face. "You must have plenty of +money, if you haven't any friends," she said, and in her voice was +faint suspicion. "Noodles can't have that. He'd never go anywhere for +me again if he got that much." Her hand waved his away. "When he comes +back, if you'll give him a quarter he'll stand on his head. It's hard +and hollow, and he makes right smart standing on it and wriggling his +feet." She shook her head. "It would ruin him to give him a dollar. +Please read to Father." + +Her visitor's face flushed. Why couldn't he remember? "Very well," he +said; "manage it your way. Tell him to hurry, will you?'" + +Would she come? With his lips Stephen Van Landing was pronouncing the +words of the article he had again begun to read to the blind harpist, +but in his heart, which was beating thickly, other words were surging, +and every now and then he wiped his forehead lest its dampness be seen +by the child's keen eyes. Would she come? Three years had passed since +senseless selfishness on his part had made her spirit flare and she +had given him back his ring. For a moment he had held it, and in the +dancing flames of the logs upon the hearth in the library of her +beautiful old-fashioned home its stones had gleamed brilliantly, +flashed protesting fire; then he had dropped it in the blaze and +turned and left the room. Had she forgotten, or had she suffered, too? + +With mechanical monotony the words continued to come from his lips, +but his thoughts were afar off, and presently Carmencita took the +magazine out of his hand. + +"Excuse me," she said, "but Father is asleep, and you don't know a +word you're saying. You might as well stop." + +Putting the magazine on the table, Carmencita drew the stool on which +she was sitting closer to Van Landing's chair, and, hands clasped +around her knees, looked up into his eyes. In hers was puzzled +questioning. + +"I beg your pardon." His face flushed under the grave scrutiny bent +upon him. "I was reading abominably, but I couldn't get my mind--" + +"I know," Carmencita nodded understandingly. "I do that way sometimes +when I'm saying one thing and thinking another, and Father always +takes a little nap until I get out of the clouds. He says I spend a +lot of my time in the clouds. I'm bound to soar sometimes. If I didn't +make out I wasn't really and truly living here, on the top floor, with +the Rheinhimers underneath, but just waiting for our house to be fixed +up, I couldn't stand it all the time. I'd go--" + +She hesitated, then again went on. "You see, it's this way. There 're +a lot of things I hate, but I've got to stand them, and the only way I +can do it is to get away from them in my mind sometimes. Father says +it's the way we stand things that proves the kind of person we are; +but Father is Father, and I am me, and letting out is a great relief. +Did you ever feel as if you're bound to say things sometimes?" + +"I'm afraid I've not only felt I had to say them, but I said them." +Van Landing looked at his watch. "Your Father is doubtless right, +but--" + +"Noodles hasn't had time to get back yet, and she might not be +there." Carmencita glanced toward the clock. "And Father is always +right. He's had to sit so many hours alone and think and think and +think, that he's had time to ask God about a good many things we don't +take time to ask about. I pray a lot, but my kind of prayers isn't +praying. They're mostly asking, and Father says prayer is +receiving--is getting God in you, I mean. I don't understand, but he +does, and he doesn't ask for things like I do, but for patience and +courage and--and things like that. No matter what happens, he keeps on +trusting. I don't. I'm not much of a truster. I want to do things my +way, myself." She leaned forward. "If I tell you something will you +promise not to tell anybody, not even Miss Frances when--when it's all +right?" + +"I promise." + +Van Landing nodded at the eager little face upraised to his. It was +singularly attractive and appealing, and the varying emotions that +swept over it indicated a temperament that took little in life calmly, +or as a commonplace happening, and a surge of protest at her +surroundings swept over him. + +"I promise," he repeated. "I won't tell." + +"Cross your heart and shut your eyes and I will tell you." + +Hands on his knees, Carmencita watched the awkward movements of Van +Landing's fingers, then she laughed joyously, but when she spoke her +voice was in a whisper. + +"I'm writing a book." + +"You are doing what?" + +"Writing a book! It's perfectly grand. That is, some days it is, but +most days it is a mess. It was a mess yesterday, and I burned up every +single word I wrote last week. I'll show it to you if you want to see +it." + +Without waiting for an answer Carmencita sprang to her feet, and with +noiseless movement skipped across the room, and from the middle drawer +of the chest between the windows took out a large flat box. + +"This is it." Again taking her seat on the stool at Van Landing's +feet, she opened the box carefully. One by one she lifted out of it +pieces of paper of varying size and color and held them toward her +visitor, who, hands clasped between knees, was bending forward and +watching with amazed interest the seemingly exhaustless contents of +the box beside him. + +"I use pad-paper when I have it." Several white sheets were laid in a +pile by themselves. "But most of the chapters are on wrapping-paper. +Mrs. Beckwith gives me all of hers, and so does Mrs. Rheinhimer when +her children don't chew it up before she can save it. That's chapter +fourteen. I don't like it much, it's so squshy, but I wrote it that +way because I read in a newspaper once that slops sold better than +anything else, and I'm writing this to sell, if I can." + +"Have you named it?" Van Landing's voice was as serious as +Carmencita's. "I've been told that a good title is a great help to a +book. I hope yours will bring you a good deal of money, but--" + +"So do I." Carmencita's hands came together fervently. "I'm bound to +make some money, and this is the only way I can think of until I'm +fourteen and can go to work. I'm just thirteen and two months, and I +can't go yet. The law won't let me. I used to think it took a lot of +sense to write a book, but the Damanarkist says it don't, and that +anybody who is fool enough to waste time could write the truck people +read nowadays. He don't read it, but I do, all I can get--I like it." + +"I've never tried to write." Van Landing again glanced at the clock. +Noodles was staying an interminably long time. "Like you, I imagined +it took some measure of ability--" + +"Oh, but it don't. I mean it doesn't take any to write things like +that." Carmencita's finger pointed to several backless magazines and a +couple of paper-bound books on the table behind her. "I read once that +people like to read things that make them laugh and cry and--and +forget about the rent money, and tell all about love-dovies and +villains and beautiful maidens, and my book's got some of all those +kinds of things in it. It hasn't got any--What did you say you thought +it took to write a book?" + +"Ability--that is, a little of it." + +"I guess that depends on the kind of book it is. I put something of +everything I could think of in mine, but I didn't put any ability in. +I didn't have any to put, and, besides, I wanted it to sell. That's +the chapter I love best." A large piece of brown paper was waved in +the air. "It's the one in which the Princess Patricia gets ready to +die because she hears her sweetheart making love to some one else, and +then she comes to her senses and makes him marry the other girl so +they can live miserable ever after, and the Princess goes about doing +good like Miss Frances. But I'm going to marry her to somebody before +I'm through--I'm--" + +"You believe in marriage, then." Van Landing smiled, and, stooping, +picked up several sheets of paper evidently torn from a blank-book. +"This must be the courtship chapter. It seems rather sentimental." + +"It is. Regular mush slush. It's the kind of courting a man who isn't +much does--that is, I guess it's the kind, but the Princess +understands. She's been fooled once. Tell me"--Carmencita leaned +forward and, arms again crossed on Van Landing's knees, looked +anxiously in his face--"what does a man say when he's really and truly +courting? I mean a nice man. When the Real one comes, the Right +one--what will he say? I'm just about there, and I don't know how to +go on." + +"I wish I could tell you." Van Landing leaned back in his chair and, +taking out his watch again, looked at it. "I shouldn't dare to try to +write a novel, consequently--" + +"I'll try anything while I'm waiting to go to work." Carmencita sat +back dejectedly. "Is a book a novel because it has love in it?" + +"It is generally supposed to be. When you are older you may write +your love scenes with greater knowledge and--" + +"No, I won't. I don't expect to have any love scenes when I get +married. I've read a lot of that, and it don't last. All I want my +husband to say is, 'Will you marry me, Carmencita?' and I will say, +'Yes,' and I hope we'll keep on liking each other. Some don't." Her +face changed, and she sat upright, her hands pressed to her breast. +"_This_ is a novel--to--night is! We're living one, and you're the +Prince and Miss Frances is the Princess, and I found you! Oh, my +goodness! what is that?" + +With a swift movement she was on her feet and at the door. Van +Landing, too, rose quickly. Below could be heard loud voices, the +moving of furniture, and the cries of frightened children, and +cautiously Carmencita turned the knob and went into the hall. + +"Old Beer-Barrel is drunk again." Tiptoeing to the banister, she +leaned over it. "When he gets like this he's crazy as a loon, and some +day he'll kill somebody. Goodness gracious! he's coming up here!" + +Before Van Landing could reach her she was inside and at the +wash-stand. Taking up the pitcher filled with water, she again ran +into the hall, and as the cursing, stumbling man began to mount the +stairs she leaned over the banister and poured the contents of the +pitcher on his head. As if shot, the man stood still, face upturned, +hair drenched, hands trembling, then he sat down on the steps. + +Giving the pitcher to Van Landing, she told him to fill it and pointed +to a faucet in the hall. "I don't think he'll need another; one is +generally enough. I've seen him like this before. His wife won't throw +water in his face, but I throw." She leaned farther over the railing. +"If you'll be quiet and go back quick I won't put any more water on +you; it's awful cold, but if you don't--" + +Slowly, and as if dazed, the man on the steps got up, and as he +disappeared Carmencita nodded to her visitor to go back to her Father, +now standing by the table. Closing the door, she came toward him and +pushed him again in his chair, smoothing lightly the snow-white hair +and kissing the trembling fingers, then at his feet she took her seat. + +"I'm so sorry he waked you. It was just old Beer-Barrel. He oughtn't +to drink"--she raised her eyes to Van Landing's--"but a man who's got +a wife like his is bound to do something, and sometimes I wish I could +put the water on her instead of him." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +For a moment Van Landing walked up and down the room, hands in his +pockets and heart pounding in a way of which he was ashamed. +Ordinarily the sight of a drunken man would have awakened little +emotion save disgust, but the realization of the helplessness of the +two people before him filled him with inward rage, and for some time +he could not trust himself to speak. A sickening horror of this +hideous side of life filled him with strange protest. Yesterday he had +not known and had not cared that such things could be, and now-- + +On Carmencita's face was none of the alarm that had come into his. Her +father, too, was getting over his fright. For this helpless old man +and fair, frail child, whose wit and courage were equal to situations +of which she had the right of childhood to be ignorant, the scene just +witnessed had the familiarity of frequent repetition, but for him it +was horribly new, and if the Damanarkist of whom Carmencita so often +spoke should come in he would be glad to shake his hand. + +A noise at the door made him start. They were coming. The boy and +Frances. He dug his hands deeper in his pockets to hide their +trembling, and his face went white. + +But it was not Noodles. It was Mr. Robinsky, who had brought the harp, +and, though he evidently intended to sit down and talk, with +consummate skill and grace he was led into the hall by Carmencita and +told good night with sweetness and decision. It was wonderfully +managed. No man could have done it, and in his heart Van Landing +thanked her; but before he could speak there was a loud pounding on +the door, and both he and Carmencita started nervously toward it. + +"It's Noodles. I know his knock." Carmencita's hands clasped tightly, +and in her voice was eager trembling. "I'm so excited I can't breathe +good! It's like being in a book. Go in the room over there quick, Mr. +Van. Come in!" + +With inward as well as outward rigidity Van Landing waited. To the +movements of Carmencita's hand waving him away he paid no attention. +In thick, heavy throbs his heart sent the blood to his face, then it +receded, and for a moment the room was dark and he saw nothing. To the +"come in" of Carmencita the door opened, and he looked in its +direction. Noodles was alone. + +"Where is she?" Carmencita's voice was high and shrill in excitement +and dismay. "I told you to wait for her! You know I told you to wait +for her!" + +Cap in hand, Noodles looked first at Van Landing and then at the +child. "Warn't no her to wait for," he said, presently. "She ain't +there, and she didn't go to the class to-night. Miss James went for +her. Some of her kin-folks is in town staying with some their +kin-folks, and she is spending the night with 'em." The now soiled and +crumpled note was held toward Carmencita. "She won't be back till day +after to-morrow, what's Christmas eve, though she might come back +to-morrow night, Fetch-It said. Warn't nobody there but +Fetch-It--leastways warn't nobody else I seen." + +Van Landing looked at Carmencita, then turned sharply and went over +toward the window. A choking, stifling sensation made breathing +difficult, and, the tension of the past few hours relaxed, he felt as +one on the edge of a precipice from which at any moment he might +topple over. It was too cold to open the window, but he must have air. +Going to the couch, he took up his hat and coat, then came back and +held out his hand. + +"Give him this"--he nodded at Noodles, "and tell your father good +night. And thank you, Carmencita, thank you for letting me come. +To-morrow--" The room was getting black. "I will see you to-morrow." + +A moment later he was out of the room and down the steps and on the +street, and in the darkness he walked as one who feels something in +his way he cannot see; and then he laughed, and the laugh was hard and +bitter, and in it was a sound that was not good to hear. + +The cold air stung his face, made breathing better, and after a while +he looked up. For many blocks he had walked unheedingly, but, hearing +a church-bell strike the hour, he took out his watch and glanced at +it. To go home was impossible. Turning into a side-street, he walked +rapidly in a direction that led he knew not whither, and for a while +let the stinging sensation of disappointment and rebellion possess him +without restraint. It was pretty cruel, this sudden shutting of the +door of hope in his face. The discovery of Frances's presence in the +city had brought again in full tumultuous surge the old love and +longing, and the hours of waiting had been well-nigh unendurable. And +now he would have to wait until day after to-morrow. He would go +to-morrow night to this Mother Somebody. What was her name? He could +remember nothing, was, indeed, as stupid as if he had been knocked in +the head. Well, he had been. Where did this woman live? The child had +refused to tell him. With a sudden stop he looked around. Where was +he? He had walked miles in and out of streets as unknown to him as if +part of a city he had never been in, and he had no idea where he was. +A sudden fear gripped him. Where did Carmencita live? He had paid no +attention to the streets they were on when she took him to the house +she called home. He was full of other thought, but her address, of +course, he would get before he left, and he had left without asking. +What a fool he was! What a stupid fool! For half a moment he looked +uncertainly up and down the street whose name he did not know. No +policeman was in sight; no one was in sight except a woman on the +opposite pavement, who was scurrying along with something under her +shawl hugged close to her breast, and a young girl who was coming his +way. Turning, he retraced his steps. He did not know in which +direction to go. He only knew he must keep on. Perhaps he could find +his way back to the place where Carmencita lived. + +He did not find it. Through the night he walked street after street, +trying to recall some building he had passed, but he had walked as +blind men walk, and nothing had been noticed. To ask of people what +they could not tell was useless. He did not know the name of the +street he wanted to find, and, moreover, a curious shrinking kept him +from inquiring. In the morning he would find it, but he did not want +to make demands upon the usual sources for help until he had exhausted +all other means of redeeming his folly in not learning Carmencita's +full name and address before he left her. Was a man's whole life to be +changed, to be made or unmade, by whimsical chance or by stupid +blunder? In the gray dawn of a new day he reached his home and went to +bed for a few hours' sleep. + +When, later, he left his house to renew his search for Carmencita the +weather had changed. It had begun to snow, and tiny particles of ice +stung his face as he walked, and the people who passed shivered as +they hurried by. On every street that offered chance of being the one +he sought he went up and down its length, and not until he felt he was +being noticed did he take into partial confidence a good-natured +policeman who had nodded to him on his third passing. The man was +kindly, but for hay-stack needles there was no time and he was +directed to headquarters. To find a house, number unknown, on a +street, name unknown, of a party, full name again unknown, was too +much of a puzzle for busy times like these. Any other time than +Christmas--He was turned from that an inquiry from a woman with a +child in her arms might be answered. + +"Any other time than Christmas!" + +With a sense of demoralization it was dawning on him that he might not +find her, or Carmencita, in time for Christmas, and he _must_ find +them. A great hunger for the day to be to him what it seemed to be to +others possessed him feverishly, and with eyes that saw what they had +never seen before he watched, as he walked, the faces of the people +who passed, and in his heart crept childish longing to buy something +for somebody, something that was wanted very much, as these people +seemed to be doing. He had made out the checks he usually sent to +certain institutions and certain parties at this season of the year +for his head clerk to mail. By this time they had been received, but +with them had gone no word of greeting or good will; his card alone +had been inclosed. A few orders had been left at various stores, but +with them went no Christmas spirit. He wondered how it would feel to +buy a thing that could make one's face look as Carmencita's had looked +when she made her purchase of the night before. It was a locket she +had bought--a gold locket. + +In a whispered confidence while in the car she had told him it was for +her mother's picture. The picture used to be in her father's watch, +but the watch had to be sold when he was sick, after her mother's +death, and he had missed the touch of the picture so. She knew, for +often she had seen him holding his watch in his hand, open at the +back, where the picture lay, with his fingers on it, and sometimes he +would kiss it when he thought she was out of the room. After the watch +was sold the picture had been folded up in one of her mother's +handkerchiefs, and her father kept it in the pocket of his coat; but +once it had slipped out of the handkerchief, and once through a hole +in the pocket, and they thought it was lost. Her father hadn't slept +any that night. And now he could sleep with the locket around his +neck. She would put it on a ribbon. Wasn't it grand? And Carmencita's +hands had clasped ecstatically. + +Up and down the streets he went, looking, looking, looking. The +district in which he found himself was one of the poorest in the city, +but the shops were crowded with buyers, and, though the goods for sale +were cheap and common and of a quality that at other times would have +repelled, to-day they interested. Carmencita might be among the +shoppers. She had said she had a few things to get for some +children--penny things--and she was possibly out, notwithstanding the +snow which now was falling thick and fast. + +Some time after his usual lunch-hour he remembered he must have +something to eat; and, going into a dingy-looking restaurant, he sat +down at a table, the only one which had a vacant seat at it, and +ordered coffee and oysters. His table companion was a half-grown boy +with chapped hands and a thin white face; but his eyes were clear and +happy, and the piece of pie he was eating was being swallowed in huge +hunks. It was his sole order, a piece of awful-looking pie. As the +coffee and oysters were brought him Van Landing saw the boy look at +them hungrily and then turn his eyes away. + +"I beg your pardon." Van Landing, whose well-regulated life permitted +of few impulses, turned to the boy. "I ordered these things"--he +pointed to the steaming food--"and I don't want them. I want something +else. Would you mind having them? It's a pity to throw them away." + +The boy hesitated, uncertain what was meant, then he laughed. "It sure +is," he said. "If you don't want them I'll help you out. I'm hollow as +a hound what's been on a hunt. Good thing Christmas don't come but +once a year. You can cut out lunch better'n anything else for a +save-up, though. That girl over there"--he pointed his finger behind +him--"ain't had nothing but a glass of milk for a month. She's got +some kiddie brothers and sisters, and they're bound to have Christmas, +she says. Rough day, ain't it?" + +Van Landing gave another order. Had it not been for the gnawing +restlessness, the growing fear, which filled him, the scene would have +interested. A few days ago he would have seen only the sordid side of +it, the crudeness and coarseness; but the search he was on had +humanized what hitherto had only seemed a disagreeable and +objectionable side of life, and the people before him were of an odd +kinship. In their faces was hunger. There were so many kinds of hunger +in the world. He got up, and with a nod to the boy paid his bill and +went out. + +Through the afternoon hours he walked steadily. Dogged determination +made him keep on, just as sensitive shrinking prevented his making +inquiries of others. It was silly to ask what couldn't be answered. He +must have been mad the night before not to have noticed where he was +going, not to have asked Carmencita her name. + +By four o'clock the street-lights had been turned on, making of the +dark, dingy tenements a long lane with high, unbroken walls, and on a +corner he stood for a moment wondering which was the best way to go. +To his left were shops; he went toward them, and each face of the +children coming in or going out was scanned intently. Seeing a group +pressed close to a window in which was displayed an assortment of +dolls of all sorts and sizes, with peculiar clothing of peculiar +colors, he went toward them, stood for a moment by their side. One of +the children was the size of Carmencita. + +"That's mine--that one in the pink-silk dress"--a dirty little finger +was pointed to a huge and highly decorated doll in the center of the +window--"that and the blue beads, and that box of paints with the +picture on it, and--" + +"You're a pig, all right. Want the earth, don't you? Well, you can't +have it." And valiantly a child with a shawl on her head pushed closer +to the window, now clouded by the steam from many little mouths. "I +want that one--the one in long clothes with a cap on. What you want, +Lizzie Lue? Look out there and keep your elbows where they +belong"--this to the jostling, pushing crowd behind. "Come on, kid; +kick if you have to; only way you can manage some folks. Which one you +want, Lizzie Lue?" And a tiny scrap of a child was held up in arms but +little bigger than her own. + +As Van Landing listened a sudden impulse to take the children in and +get for them the things they wanted came over him; then he walked +away. If only he could find Carmencita and let her do the buying. Was +Christmas like this every year? These children with no chance--was +there no one to give them their share of childhood's rights? +Settlement workers, churches, schools, charity associations--things of +that sort doubtless saw to them. It was not his business. But wasn't +it his business? Could it possibly be his business to know--and care? + +"I beg your pardon, sir." + +Van Landing looked up. A tall, slender man in working-clothes, a +basket on one arm, his wife holding to the other, tried to touch his +hat. "The crowd makes walking hard without pushing. I hope I didn't +step on your foot." + +"Didn't touch it." The man had on no overcoat, and his hands were red +and chapped. He was much too thin for his height, and as he coughed +Van Landing understood. "Shopping, I suppose?" + +Why he asked he did not know, and it was the wife he asked, the young +wife whose timid clutch of her husband's arm was very unlike the +manner of most of the women he had passed. She looked up. + +"We were afraid to wait until to-morrow, it's snowing so hard. We +might not be able to get out, and the children--" + +"We've got three kiddies home." The man's thin face brightened, and he +rubbed his coat sleeve across his mouth to check his cough. "Santa +Claus is sure enough to them, and we don't want 'em to know different +till we have to. A merry Christmas, sir!" + +As they went on Van Landing turned and looked. They were poor people. +But were they quite so poor as he? He had seen many for whom he might +have made Christmas had he known in time--might have saved the +sacrifices that had to be made; but would it then have been Christmas? +Slowly, very slowly, in the shabby street and snow-filled air, an +understanding of things but dimly glimpsed before was coming to him, +and he was seeing what for long had been unseen. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +"Think hard, Father--oh, _please_ think hard! It was Van--Van--" +Carmencita, hands clutched tightly behind her back, leaned forward on +her tiptoes and anxiously peered into her father's face for sign of +dawning memory. "If I hadn't been so Christmas-crazy I'd have listened +better, but I wasn't thinking about his name. Can't you--_can't_ you +remember the last part? It was Van--Van--" + +Slowly her father shook his head. "I wish I could, Carmencita. I don't +hear well of late and I didn't catch his name. You called him Mr. +Van." + +"I called him that for short. I'm a cutting-down person even in +names." The palms of Carmencita's hands came together and her fingers +interlocked. "If I'd had more sense and manners I'd have called his +name right from the first, and we wouldn't have lost him. I could +have found him to-day if I'd known what to look for in the +telephone-book, or if Miss Frances had been at Mother McNeil's. She +might as well be lost, too, but she'll be back at seven, and that's +why I am going now, so as to be there the minute she gets in, to ask +her what his--" + +"She might not like your asking, Carmencita. You must be careful, +child. Miss Barbour is not a lady one can--" + +"Not a lady one can what?" Carmencita stopped her nervous swaying, and +the big blue eyes looked questioningly at her father. "Was there ever +a lady who didn't want to find her lost lover if he was looking for +her? That's what he is. And she wants to find him, if she don't know +it exactly. She's working it off down here with us children, but she's +got something on her mind. He's it. We've got to find him, Father--got +to!" + +With a dexterous movement of her fingers Carmencita fastened the +buttons of her coat and pulled her hat down on her head. "I'm going +back to Mother McNeil's," she said, presently, and the large and +half-worn rubbers which she had tied on over her shoes were looked at +speculatively. "The Damanarkist is going to take me. As soon as Miss +Frances tells me Mr. Van's name I'll telephone him to come quick, but +I won't tell her that. She might go away again. In that slushy book I +read the girl ought to have been shook. She was dying dead in love +with her sweetheart and treated him like he was a poodle-dog. Miss +Frances wouldn't do that, but I don't know what she might do, and I'm +not going to tell her any more than I can help. I want her to think it +just happened. Good-by, and go to sleep if you want to, but don't +smoke, please. You might drop the sparks on your coat. Good-by." + +With a swift kiss she was gone and, meeting the Damanarkist, who was +waiting outside the door, they went down the three flights of steps +and out into the street. The wind was biting, and, turning up the +collar of her coat, Carmencita put her hands in her pockets and made +effort to walk rapidly through the thick snow into which her feet sank +with each step. For some minutes conversation was impossible. Heads +ducked to keep out of their faces the fast-falling flakes, they +trudged along in silence until within a few doors of Mother McNeil's +house, and then Carmencita looked up. + +"Do--do you ever pray, Mr. Leimberg--pray hard, I mean?" + +"Pray!" The Damanarkist drew in his breath and laughed with smothered +scorn. "Pray! Why should I pray? I cut out prayer when I was a kid. +No, I don't pray." + +"It's a great comfort, praying is." Carmencita's hand was taken out of +her pocket and slipped through the arm of her disillusioned friend. +"Sometimes you're just bound to pray. It's like breathing--you can't +help it. It--it just rises up. I prayed yesterday for--for something, +and it pretty near happened, but--" + +"And you think your praying helped to make it happen!" Mr. Leimberg +drew Carmencita's hand farther through his arm, and his lips twisted +in contemptuous pity. "You think there is a magician up--oh, +somewhere, who makes things happen, do you? Think--" + +"Yes." Carmencita's feet skipped in spite of the clogging snow. "I +think that somewhere there is Somebody who knows about everything, but +I don't think He means us to ask for anything we want just because we +want it and don't do a lick to get it. I've been praying for months +and months about my temper and stamping my foot when I get mad, and +if I remember in time and hold down the up-comings my prayers are +always answered; but when I let go and forget--" Carmencita whistled a +long, low, significant note. "I guess then I don't want to be +answered. I want to smash something. But I didn't pray yesterday about +tempers and stamping. It was pretty near a miracle that I asked for, +though I said I wasn't asking for miracles or--" + +"All people who pray ask for miracles. Since the days when men feared +floods and famines and pestilence and evil spirits they have cried out +for protection and propitiated what to them were gods." The +Damanarkist spit upon the ground as if to spew contempt of pretense +and cupidity. "I've no patience with it. If there is a God, He knows +the cursed struggle life is with most of us; and if there isn't, +prayer is but a waste of time." + +Carmencita lifted her eyes and for a moment looked in the dark, thin +face, embittered by the losing battle of life, as if she had not heard +aright, then she laughed softly. + +"If I didn't know you, dear Mr. Damanarkist, I'd think you really +meant it--what you said. And you don't. I don't guess there's anybody +in all the world who doesn't pray sometimes. Something in you does it +by itself, and you can't keep it back. You just wait until you feel +all lost and lonely and afraid, or so glad you are ready to sing out +loud, then you'll do it--inside, if you don't speak out. If I prayed +harder to have more sense and not talk so much, and not say what I +think about people, and not hate my ugly clothes so, and despise the +smell of onions and cabbage and soap-suds, I might get more answers, +but you can't get answers just by praying. You've got to work like the +mischief, and be a regular policeman over yourself and nab the bad +things the minute they poke their heads out. If I'd prayed differently +yesterday I wouldn't have been looking for--for somebody all to-day, +and be a jumping-jack to-night for fear I won't find him. Did--did you +ever have a sweetheart, Mr. Damanarkist?" Before answer could be made +Mother McNeil's house was reached, and with steps that were leaps +Carmencita was at the door, and a moment later inside. Finding that +Miss Frances had returned, she called to Mr. Leimberg to come for her +on his way back from the station library where he was to get his book, +and breathlessly she ran to Miss Barbour's door and knocked violently +upon it. + +To the "come in" she entered, eyes big and shining, and cheeks stung +into color by the bitter wind; and with a rush forward the hands of +her adored friend were caught and held with a tight and nervous grip. + +"Miss Frances! Miss Frances!" + +Two arms were flung around Miss Barbour's waist, and for a moment the +curly brown head was buried on her breast and words refused to come; +instead came breathing short and quick; then Carmencita looked up. + +"What--oh, what is his name, Miss Frances? He was found and now is +lost, and I promised--I promised I'd get you for him!" + +Frances Barbour lifted the excited little face and kissed it. "What's +the matter, Carmencita? You look as if you'd seen a ghost, and you're +talking as if--" + +"I'm crazy--I'm not. And there isn't any time to lose. He said he +_must_ find you before Christmas. There isn't a soul to make Christmas +for him, and he hasn't anybody to buy things for, and he's as lonely +as a--a desert person, and he doesn't want any one but you. Oh, Miss +Frances, what is his name?" + +Frances Barbour leaned back in the chair in which she had taken her +seat, and her face whitened. "What are you talking about, and who +is--" + +"I'm talking about--Him." On her knees Carmencita crouched against her +friend's chair, and her long, slender fingers intertwined with those +which had suddenly grown nerveless. "I'm talking about your +sweetheart, Miss Frances. I found him for you, and then I lost him. +I'll tell you how it happened after I know all of his name and--If you +had seen his face when I told him I knew you and knew where you lived +you'd hurry, you'd--" + +"If he wishes to see me, why doesn't he--I mean--" Sudden color surged +into the face turned from the child's eager eyes. "What are we talking +about, Carmencita? There is evidently some mistake." + +"There is. An awful one. It's three years old. And we're talking about +the gentleman Father and I met yesterday and lost last night. You're +his sweetheart, and he wants you for Christmas and for ever after, and +he may be dead by to-morrow if he doesn't find you. He came to our +house, and I wrote you a note to come, too, and when you didn't do it +he looked as if he'd been hit in the face and couldn't breathe good, +and he stumbled down the steps like a blind man, and we'd forgot to +tell him our name, and he didn't know the number of our house, and--" +She paused for breath and brushed back the curls from her face. "I +know he's been looking all day. Where does he live, Miss Frances, and +what is his name?" + +"If you will tell me of whom you are talking I will tell you whether +or not I know him. Until you do--" + +"I told you I didn't remember any of his name but the Van part. Don't +you know the name of the person you love best on earth? It's his name +I want." + +Frances Barbour got up and walked over to the bureau and opened its +top drawer. "You are asking questions that in any one else I would not +permit, Carmencita. I am sure you do not mean to be--" + +"I don't mean anything but that I want to know all of Mr. Van's name, +and if you don't tell me you are not a Christian!" + +With a change of expression Carmencita sprang to her feet and, hands +clasped behind her back, she stood erect, her eyes blazing with +indignation. "If you don't tell him where you are, don't let him come, +I'll think it's all just make-believe and put on, your coming and +doing for people you don't really and truly know, and doing nothing +for those you do, and letting the ones you love best be lonely and +miserable and having Christmas all by themselves when they're starving +hungry for you. What is his name?" Carmencita's voice was high and +shrill, and her foot was stamped vehemently. "What is his name?" + +"Stephen Van Landing." + +Face to face, Frances Barbour and Carmencita looked into each other's +eyes, then with a leap Carmencita was out of the room and down the +steps and at the telephone. With hands that trembled she turned the +pages of the book she was holding upside down, then with disgust at +her stupidity she righted it and ran her finger down the long line of +V's. Finding at last the name she wanted, she called the number, then +closed her eyes and prayed fervently, feverishly, and half-aloud the +words came jerkily: + +"O God, please let him be home, and let him get down here quick before +Miss Frances goes out. She and Mother McNeil are going somewhere and +won't be back until eleven, and that would be too late for him to +come, and--Hello!" The receiver was jammed closer to her ear. "Is +that Mr. Van Landing's house? Is he home? He--he--isn't home!" The +words came in a little wail. "Oh, he must be home! Are you +sure--_sure_? Where can I get him? Where is he? You don't know--hasn't +been at the office all day and hasn't telephoned? He's looking--I mean +I guess he's, trying to find somebody. Who is this talking? It's--it's +a friend of his, and tell him the minute he comes in to call up Pelham +4293 and ask for Miss Frances Barbour, who wants to talk to him. And +listen. Tell him if she's out to come to 14 Custer Street, to Mother +McNeil's, and wait until she gets home. Write it down. Got it? Yes, +that's it. Welcome. Good-by." + +The receiver was hung upon its hook, and for a moment Carmencita +stared at the wall; then her face sobered. The strain and tension of +the day gave way, and the high hopes of the night before went out as +at the snuffing of a candle. Presently she nodded into space. + +"I stamped my foot at Miss Frances. _Stamped my foot_! And I got mad, +and was impertinent, and talked like a gutter girl to a sure-enough +lady. Talked like--" + +Her teeth came down on her lips to stop their sudden quivering, and +the picture on the wall grew blurred and indistinct. + +"There isn't any use in praying." Two big tears rolled down her cheeks +and fell upon her hands. "I might as well give up." + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +For a half-moment after Carmencita left the room Frances Barbour stood +in the middle of the floor and stared at the door, still open, then +went over and closed it. Coming back to the table at which she had +been writing, she sat down and took up her pen and made large circles +on the sheet of paper before her. Slowly the color in her face cooled +and left it white. + +Carmencita was by nature cyclonic. Her buoyancy and bubbling spirits, +her enthusiasms and intensities, were well understood, but how could +she possibly know Stephen Van Landing? All day he had been strangely +on her mind, always he was in her heart, but thought of him was forced +to be subconscious, for none other was allowed. Of late, however, +crowd it back as she would, a haunting sense of his presence had been +with her, and under the busy and absorbed air with which she had gone +about the day's demands there had been sharp surge of unpermitted +memories of which she was impatient and ashamed. + +Also there had been disquieting questions, questions to which she had +long refused to listen, and in the crush and crowd they had pursued +her, peered at her in unexpected places, and faced her in the quiet of +her room, and from them she was making effort to escape when +Carmencita burst in upon her. The latter was too excited, too full of +some new adventure, to talk clearly or coherently. Always Carmencita +was adventuring, but what could she mean by demanding to know the name +of her sweetheart, and by saying she had found him and then lost him? +And why had she, Frances Barbour, told her as obediently as if their +positions were reversed and she the child instead of Carmencita? + +Elbow on the table and chin in the palm of her hand, she tapped the +desk-pad with her pen and made small dots in the large circles she had +drawn on the paper, and slowly she wrote a name upon it. + +What could Stephen Van Landing be doing in this part of the town? He +was one of the city's successful men, but he did not know his city. +Disagreeable sights and sounds had by him been hitherto avoided, and +in this section they were chiefly what was found. Why should he have +come to it? That he was selfish and absorbed in his own affairs, that +he was conventional and tradition--trained, was as true to-day, +perhaps, as when she had told him so three years ago, but had they +taught him nothing, these three years that were past? Did he still +think, still believe-- + +With a restless movement she turned in her chair, and her hands +twisted in her lap. Was she not still as stubborn as of old, still as +proud and impatient of restraint where her sense of freedom and +independence of action were in question, still as self-willed? And was +it true, what Carmencita had said--was she giving herself to others +and refusing herself to the only one who had the right to claim her, +the royal right of love? + +But how did she know he still needed her, wanted her? When she had +returned to her own city after long absence she had told of her +present place of residence to but few of her old friends. Her own +sorrow, her own sudden facing of the inevitable and unescapable, had +brought her sharply to a realization of how little she was doing with +the time that was hers, and she had been honest and sincere when she +had come to Mother McNeil's and asked to be shown the side of life she +had hitherto known but little--the sordid, sinful, struggling side in +which children especially had so small a chance. In these years of +absence he had made no sign. Even if it were true, what Carmencita had +said, that he--that is, a man named Van Something--was looking for +her, until he found her she could not tell him where she was. + +She had not wished her friends to know. Settlements and society were +as oil and water, and for the present the work she had undertaken +needed all her time and thought. If only people knew, if only people +understood, the things that she now knew and had come to understand, +the inequalities and injustices of life would no longer sting and +darken and embitter as they stung and darkened and embittered now, and +if she and Stephen could work together-- + +He was living in the same place, his offices were in the same place, +and he worked relentlessly, she was told. Although he did not know she +was in the city, she knew much of him, knew of his practical +withdrawal from the old life, knew of a certain cynicism that was +becoming settled; and a thousand times she had blamed herself for the +unhappiness that was his as well as hers. She loved her work, would +always be glad that she had lived among the people who were so +singularly like those other people who thought themselves so +different, but if he still needed her, wanted her, was it not her +duty-- + +With an impatient movement of her hands she got up and went over to +the window. There was no duty about it. It was love that called him to +her. She should not have let Carmencita go without finding from her +how it happened that she had met Stephen Van Landing on Custer Street. +She must go to Carmencita and ask her. If he were really looking for +her they might spend Christmas together. The blood surged hotly to her +face, and the beating of her heart made her hands unsteady. If +together-- + +A noise behind made her turn. Hand on the door-knob, Carmencita was +standing in the hall, her head inside the room. All glow was gone, and +hope and excitement had yielded to dejection and despair. + +"I just came to beg your pardon for--for stamping my foot, and I'm +sorry I said what I did." The big blue eyes looked down on the floor +and one foot twisted around the other. "It isn't any use to forgive +me. I'm not worth forgiving. I'm not worth--" + +The door was slammed violently, and before Miss Barbour could reach +the hall Carmencita was down the steps and out into the street, where +the Damanarkist was waiting. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Late into the night Stephen Van Landing kept up his hurried walking. +Again and again he had stopped and made inquiries of policemen, of +children, of men and women, but no one knew that of which he asked. A +blind man who played the harp, a child named Carmencita, a boy called +Noodles, a settlement house, he supposed, over which Mother Somebody +presided--these were all he had to go on. To ask concerning Miss +Barbour was impossible. He could not bring himself to call her name. +He would have to go to headquarters for help. To-morrow would be +Christmas eve. He _would not_ spend Christmas alone--or in the usual +way. + +"Say, mister, don't you wish you was a boy again? Get out the way!" + +With a push the boy swept by him, pulling on a self-constructed sleigh +a still smaller boy, and behind the two swarmed a bunch of yelling +youngsters who, as they passed, pelted him with snow. One of them +stopped to tie the string of his shoe, and, looking down, Van Landing +saw--Noodles. + +With a swift movement he reached down to grab him, but, thinking it +was a cop, the boy was up and gone with a flash and in half a moment +was out of sight. As swiftly as the boy Van Landing ran down the +street and turned the corner he had seen the boy turn. His heart was +beating thickly, his breath came unevenly, and the snow was blinding, +but there was no thought of stopping. He bumped into a man coming +toward him, and two hats flew in the air and on the pavement, but he +went on. The hat did not matter, only Noodles mattered, and Noodles +could no longer be seen. Down the street, around first one corner and +then another, he kept on in fierce pursuit for some moments; then, +finding breathing difficult, he paused and leaned against the step +railing of a high porch, to better get his bearings. Disappointment +and fury were overmastering him. It was impossible and absurd to have +within one's grasp what one had been looking for all day and part of +two nights, and have it slip away like that. + +"Come on. No use--that--" The policeman's voice was surly. "If you'll +walk quiet I won't ring up. If you don't you'll get a free ride. Come +on." + +"Come on?" Van Landing put his hand to his head. His hat was gone. He +looked down at his feet. They were soaking wet. His overcoat was +glazed with a coating of fine particles of ice, and his hands were +trembling. He had eaten practically nothing since his lunch of +Tuesday, had walked many miles, and slept but a few hours after a +night of anxious searching, and suddenly he felt faint and sick. + +"Come on?" he repeated. "Come where?" + +"Where you belong." The policeman's grasp was steadying. "Hurry up. I +can't wait here all night." + +"Neither can I." Van Landing took out his handkerchief and wiped his +face. "I wish you'd get my hat." The crowd was pressing closer. He was +losing time and must get away. Besides, he could not trust himself. +The man's manner was insolent, and he was afraid he would kick him. +Instead he slipped some money in his hand. + +"Mistake, my friend. You'd have your trouble for nothing if you took +me in. There's no charge save running. I want to find a boy who +passed me just now. Name is Noodles. Know him?" + +For a moment the cop hesitated. The man's voice, dress, manner, were +not the sort seen in this section, and the bill slipped in his hand +had a yellow tinge--still-- + +"I've dropped my hat. Get it, will you?" Van Landing threw some change +in the still gathering crowd, and as they scampered for it he turned +to the policeman, then caught hold of the railing. A hateful faintness +was coming over him again. On the edge of the crowd a girl with a +middle-aged woman had stopped, and the girl was making her way toward +him. + +"What is it, Mr. Cronklin? Not one of our boys?" The clear voice +reached him as if at his side. He steadied himself, stared, and tried +to speak. + +"Frances," he said, and held out his hands. "You've made me walk so +far, Frances, and Christmas is--" + +In the snow his feet slipped. The cop was such a fool. He had never +fainted in his life. + +Some one was standing near him. Who was it, and where was he? This +wasn't his room. On his elbow, he looked around. Nothing was +familiar. It must be a woman's room; he could see photographs and a +pin-cushion on the bureau, and flowers were growing on a table near +the window. The bed he was in was small and white. His was big and +brass. What had happened? Slowly it came to him, and he started to get +up, then fell back. The surge of blood receded, and again there was +giddiness. Had he lost her? Had she, too, slipped out of his hands +because of his confounded fall? It was a durned outrage that he should +have fallen. Who was that man with his back to the bed? + +The man turned. "All right, are you? That's good!" His pulse was felt +with professional fingers, but in the doctor's voice was frank +interest. "You were pretty nearly frozen, man. It's well she saw you." + +"Where is she?" Van Landing sat up. "Where are my clothes? I must get +up." + +"I guess not." The doctor laughed, but his tone was as decisive as his +act. Van Landing was pushed back on the pillow and the covering pulled +up. "Do you mean Miss Barbour?" + +"Yes. Where is Miss Barbour?" + +The doctor wrote something on a slip of paper. "Down-stairs, waiting +to hear how you are. I'll go down and tell her. I'll see you in the +morning." + +"Where am I? Whose house is this?" + +"Your house at present." The doctor laughed again. "It's Mother +McNeil's house, but all who need it use it, and you needed it, all +right. You struck your head on the bottom step of the porch three +doors from here. Had it been an inch nearer the temple--Pretty bad +knock-out, as it was, but you'll be all right to-morrow. If you wake +up in a couple of hours take another one of these"--a pill was +obediently swallowed--"but you're to see no one until I see you again. +No talking." + +"Sorry, but I must see Miss Barbour." In Van Landing's voice was sharp +fear. "Christmas isn't over yet? I haven't missed it, have I? Are you +sure she's in this house?" + +"Sure. She's getting ready for to-morrow. To-morrow will be the +busiest day in the year. It's Christmas eve." + +Van Landing slipped down in the bed and his face went deep in the +pillows. Reaction was on. A horrible fear that he was going to cry, +going to do some abominably childish thing, made him stuff the +covering in his mouth and press his feet hard against the foot of the +bed. He would _not_ be cheated out of Christmas! He had believed he +hated it, thought he wanted to be dead during it, and now if it were +over and nothing done--Presently he spoke. + +"Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may speak to her in the +morning--before she goes out? My name is Van Landing--Stephen Van +Landing. I was a friend of hers once." + +"One now." The doctor's voice was dryly emphatic. "Lucky she +recognized you. Rather startled her, finding an old friend so +unexpectedly." Over his spectacles his kind, shrewd eyes looked down +on the man in the bed. "I'll see her. Miss Barbour is an exceptional +woman, but she's a woman, which means when she knows you are all right +she may not have time to see you. At present she's outside your door. +That's her knock. Guess she's got the milk." + +With breath held, Van Landing listened. Very low were the words +spoken, then the door was closed again. His heart was calling to her. +The long and empty years in which he had hoped against hope, and yet +could make no effort to find her, faded as mist fades before the light +that dawns and glows; and to say no word when she was near, to hold +hands still that longed to outstretch, to make no sign when he would +kneel for pardon at her feet--it was not to be endured. He would not +wait; the doctor must let her in! + +But it was not the doctor who was at his bed. It was a short, plump +woman of more than middle age, with twinkling gray eyes and firm, kind +hands and a cheery voice. + +"It's the milk, my son," she said, and the steaming glass was held to +his lips. "When you've had it you will sleep like a baby. It's warm, +are you--and the feet good and hot? Let me feel that water-bag? Bless +my soul if it's even lukewarm, and your feet still shivery! It's no +wonder, for they were ice itself when they brought you in." + +With dexterous fingers the hot-water bag was withdrawn from the foot +of the bed and Mother McNeil was out of the room. Back again, she +slipped it close to his feet, tucked in the covering, patted the +pillows, and, lowering the light, turned to leave the room. At the +door she stopped. + +"Is there anything you're needing, my son--anything I can do for you?" + +For a moment there was silence, broken only by the ticking of a tiny +clock on the mantel, then Van Landing spoke. + +"Yes." His voice was boyishly low. "Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may +see her to-morrow before she goes out? I _must_ see her." + +"Of course I will. And you can tell her how it happened that you were +right near our door when you fell, and you didn't even know she was in +town. Very few of her up-town friends know. There wasn't time for both +up-town and down-town, and there were things she wanted to find out. +She tells me you are an old friend, and I'm glad you've come across +each other again. It pleases some folks to believe in chance, but I +get more comfort thinking God has His own way. Good night, Mr. Van +Landing. Good dreams--good dreams!" + +The door was closed softly, and under the bedclothes Van Landing again +buried his face in the pillows, and his lips twitched. Chance--was it +chance or was it God? If only God would give him a chance! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +He was too tired, too utterly relaxed by warmth and medicine, to think +clearly. To-morrow he would find Carmencita, and she should get the +things the children wanted. They were very strange, the places and +people he had seen to-day. Of course he had known about such places +and people, read about them, heard about them, but seeing for one's +self was different. There were a lot of bummers among these people he +had passed; much of their misery was of their own making (he had made +much of his), but the wonder was they were no worse. + +Bold, bad faces, cold, pinched, hungry ones, eager, earnest, pathetic +and joyous, worn and weary, burdened and care-free, they again passed +before him, misty and ill-defined, as though the snow still veiled and +made them hazy, and none of them he knew. He wished they would stop +passing. He was very tired. They, too, were tired. Would they for +ever be passing before him, these people, these little children, he +had seen to-day? If they would go away he could think more clearly, +could think of Frances. She was here, in the house with him. At first +it had seemed strange, but it wasn't strange. It would be strange if +she were not here when he needed her, wanted her so. To-morrow would +not be too late. One could do a good deal on Christmas eve. Everybody +had been busy except himself. He would telephone to-morrow and tell +Herrick to close the office and give Miss Davis holiday until after +New-Year. + +But she had nowhere to go. He had heard her tell Herrick so, and +Herrick had nowhere to go, either. Both lived in boarding-houses, he +supposed. He had never thought to ask. Herrick was a faithful old +plodder--never would be anything else--but he couldn't get on without +him. He ought to raise his salary. Why didn't Herrick ask for more +money if he wanted it? And then he could get married. Why didn't he +get married, anyhow? Once or twice he had seen him talking to Miss +Davis about something that evidently wasn't business. She was a pretty +little thing and quick as lightning--just the opposite of old +Herrick. Wouldn't it be funny if they were in love; not, of course, +like-- + +They had nowhere to go Christmas. If Frances would let them they might +come here--no, not here, but at his home, their home. His home was +Frances's. It wouldn't be home for him if it weren't for her also. He +would ask her. And Carmencita and her blind father, they could come, +too. It would be horrible to have a Christmas dinner of sardines or +toasted cheese and crackers--or one in a boarding-house. Other people +might think it queer that he should have accidentally met Carmencita, +and that Carmencita should have mentioned the name of Miss Barbour, +and that he should have walked miles and miles--it must have been +thousands of miles--trying to find her, and, after all, did not find +her. She found him. But it wasn't queer. He had been looking for her +ever since--for three years he had been looking for her, and what one +looks for long enough one always finds. To-morrow--to-morrow--would +--be--Christmas eve. + +He opened his eyes slowly. The sun was blinding, and he blinked. +Mother McNeil and the doctor were standing at the foot of the bed, +and as he rubbed his eyes they laughed. + +"It's a merry Christmas you're to have, my son, after all, and it's +wanting to be up and after it you are, if I'm a judge of looks." And +Van Landing's hand, holding the coverlid close to his neck, was patted +understandingly by Mother McNeil. "Last night the doctor was a bit +worried about your head--you took your time in coming to--but I didn't +believe it was as bad as he feared, and it's well it wasn't, for it's +a grand day in which to be living, and you'll need your head. Is it +coffee or tea, now, that you like best for breakfast? And an egg and a +bit of toast, doctor, I think will taste well. I'll get them." And +without answer Mother McNeil was gone. + +The doctor sat down, felt his patient's pulse, took his temperature, +investigated the cut on the forehead, then got up. "You're all right." +His tone was one of gruff relief. "One inch nearer your temple, +however--You can get up if you wish. Good day." And he, too, was gone +before Van Landing could ask a question or say a word of thanks. + +It was bewildering, perplexing, embarrassing, and for a moment he +hesitated. Then he got up. He was absurdly shaky, but his head was +clear, and in his heart humility that was new and sweet. The day was +great, and the sun was shining as on yesterday one would not have +dreamed it could ever shine again. Going over to the door, he locked +it and hurriedly began to dress. His clothes had a rough, dry +appearance that made them hardly recognizable, and to get on his +shoes, which evidently had been dried near the furnace, was difficult. +In the small mirror over the bureau, as he tied his cravat, his face +reflected varying emotions: disgust at his soiled collar, relief that +he was up again, and gratitude that made a certain cynicism, of late +becoming too well defined, fade into quiet purpose. + +Unlocking the door, he went back to the window and looked across at +the long row of houses, as alike as shriveled peas in a dry pod, and +down on the snow-covered streets. Brilliantly the sun touched here and +there a bit of cornice below a dazzling gleaming roof, and threw rays +of rainbow light on window-pane and iron rail, outlined or hidden +under frozen foam; and the dirt and ugliness of the usual day were +lost in the white hush of mystery. + +Not for long would there be transforming effect of the storm, +however. Already the snow was being shoveled from door-steps and +sidewalks, and the laughter of the boys as they worked, the scraping +of their shovels, the rumble of wagon-wheels, which were making deep +brown ruts in the middle of the street, reached him with the muffled +sound of something far away, and, watching, he missed no detail of +what was going on below. + +"Goodness gracious! I've almost cried myself to death! And she found +you--found you!" + +Van Landing turned sharply. The door was open, though he had not heard +the knock, and with a spring Carmencita was beside him, holding his +hands and dancing as if demented with a joy no longer to be held in +restraint. + +"Oh, Mr. Van, I've almost died for fear I wouldn't find you in time! +And you're here at Mother McNeil's, and all yesterday I looked and +looked, and I couldn't remember your last name, and neither could +Father. And Miss Frances was away until night, and I never prayed so +hard and looked so hard in my life! Oh, Mr. Van, if you are a +stranger, I love you, and I'm so glad you're found!" + +She stopped for breath, and Van Landing, stooping, lifted Carmencita's +face and kissed it. + +"You are my dear friend, Carmencita." His voice, as his hands, was a +bit shaky. "I, too, am very glad--and grateful. Will you ask her to +come, ask her to let me see her? I cannot wait any longer." + +"You'll have to." Carmencita's eyes were big and blue in sudden +seriousness. "The Little Big Sisters have their tree to-night, and +she's got a million trillion things to do to-day, and she's gone out. +She's awful glad you're better, though. I asked her, and she said she +was. And I asked her why she didn't marry you right straight away, or +to-morrow if she didn't have time to-day, and--" + +"You did what, Carmencita?" + +"That. I asked her that. What's the use of wasting time? I told her +you'd like a wife for a Christmas gift very much, if she was the wife. +Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you really and truly rather have her than +anything else?" + +Van Landing turned and looked out of the window. The child's eyes and +earnest, eager face could not be met in the surge of hot blood which +swept over him, and his throat grew tight. All his theories and ideas +were becoming but confused upheaval in the manipulations of fate, or +what you will, that were bringing strange things to pass, and he no +longer could think clearly or feel calmly. He must get away before he +saw Frances. + +"Wouldn't you, Mr. Van?" + +In the voice beside him was shy entreaty and appeal, and, hands +clasped behind her, Carmencita waited. + +"I would." Van Landing made effort to smile, but in his eyes was no +smiling. Into them had come sudden purpose. "I shall ask her to marry +me to-morrow." + +Arms extended to the limit of their length, Carmencita whirled round +and round the room, then, breathless, stopped and, taking Van +Landing's hand, lifted it to her lips. + +"I kiss your hand, my lord, and bring you greetings from your faithful +subjects! I read that in a book. I'll be the subject. Isn't it grand +and magnificent and glorious?" She stopped. "She hasn't any new +clothes. A lady can't get married without new clothes, can she? And +she won't have time to get any on Christmas eve. Whether she'll do it +or not, you'll have to make her, Mr. Van, or you'll lose her again. +You've--got--to--just--make--her!" + +Carmencita's long slender forefinger made a jab in Van Landing's +direction, and her head nodded with each word uttered. But before he +could answer, Mother McNeil, with breakfast on a tray, was in the room +and Carmencita was out. + +Sitting down beside him, as he asked her to do, Van Landing told her +how it happened he was there, told her who he was. Miss Barbour was +under her care. She had once been his promised wife. He was trying to +find her when he fell, or fainted, or whatever it was, that he might +ask her again to marry him. Would she help him? + +In puzzled uncertainty Mother McNeil had listened, fine little folds +wrinkling her usually smooth forehead, and her keen eyes searching the +face before her; then she got up. + +"I might have known it would end like this. Well, why not?" Hands on +her hips, she smiled in the flushed face looking into hers. Van +Landing had risen, and his hands, holding the back of his chair, +twitched badly. "The way of love is the way of life. If she will marry +you--God bless you, I will say. It's women like Frances the work we're +in is needing. But it's women like her that men need, too. She's out, +but she asked me to wish you a very happy Christmas." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +"A very happy Christmas!" Van Landing smiled. "How can I have it +without--When can I see her, Mother McNeil?" + +At the open door Mother McNeil turned. "She has some shopping to do. +Yesterday two more families were turned over to us. Sometimes she gets +lunch at the Green Tea-pot on Samoset Street. She will be home at +four. The children come at eight, and the tree is to be dressed before +they get here." A noise made her look around. "Carmencita,--you are +out of breath, child! It's never you will learn to walk, I'm fearing!" + +Carmencita, who had run down the hall as one pursued, stopped, pulled +up her stocking, and made effort to fasten it to its supporter. +"Christmas in my legs," she said. "Can't expect feet to walk on +Christmas eve. I've got to tell him something, Mother McNeil. Will +you excuse me, please, if I tell him by himself?" + +Coming inside the room, Carmencita pulled Van Landing close to her and +closed the door, and for half a minute paused for breath. + +"It was Her. It was Miss Barbour at the telephone, and she says I must +meet her at the Green Tea-pot at two o'clock and have lunch with her +and tell her about the Barlow babies and old Miss Parker and some +others who don't go to Charities for their Christmas--and she says I +can help buy the things. Glory! I'm glad I'm living!" She stopped. "I +didn't tell her a word about you, but--Have you got a watch?" + +Van Landing looked at his watch, then put it back. "I have a watch, +but no hat. I lost my hat last night chasing Noodles. It's nine +o'clock. I'm going to the Green Tea-pot at two to take lunch also. +Want to go with me?" + +"I'm not going with you. You are going with me." Carmencita made +effort to look tall. "That's what I came to tell you. And you can ask +her there. I won't listen. I won't even look, and--" + +Van Landing took up his overcoat, hesitated, and then put it on. "I've +never had a sure-enough Christmas, Carmencita. Why can't I get those +things for the kiddies you spoke of, and save Miss Barbour the +trouble? She has so much to do, it isn't fair to put more on her. +Then, too--" + +"You can have her by yourself after we eat, can't you? Where can you +go?" + +"I haven't thought yet. Where do you suppose? She ought to rest." + +"Rest!" Carmencita's voice was shrilly scornful. "Rest--on Christmas +eve. Besides, there isn't a spot to do it in. Every one has bundles in +it." Hands clasped, her forehead puckered in fine folds, then she +looked up. "Is--is it a nice house you live in? It's all right, isn't +it?" + +"It is considered so. Why?" + +"Because what's the use of waiting until to-morrow to get married? If +she'll have you you all could stop in that little church near the +Green Tea-pot and the man could marry you, and then she could go on up +to your house and rest while you finished your Christmas things, and +then you could go for her and bring her down here to help fix the +Christmas tree, and to-morrow you could have Christmas at home. +Wouldn't it be grand?" Carmencita was on tiptoe, and again her arms +were flung in the air. Poised as if for flight, her eyes were on the +ceiling. Her voice changed. "The roof of this house leaks. It ought to +be fixed." + +Van Landing opened the door. "Your plan is an excellent one, +Carmencita. I like it immensely, but there's a chance that Miss +Barbour may not agree. Women have ways of their own in matters of +marriage. I do not even know that she will marry me at all." + +"Then she's got mighty little sense, which isn't so, for she's got a +lot. She knows what she wants, all right, and if she likes you she +likes you, and if she don't, she don't, and she don't make out she +does. Did--did you fuss?" + +"We didn't fuss." Van Landing smiled slightly. "We didn't agree about +certain things." + +"Good gracious! You don't want to marry an agree-er, do you? Mrs. +Barlow's one. Everything her husband thinks, she thinks, too, and +sometimes he can't stand her another minute. Where are you going now?" + +"I'm going to telephone for a taxi-cab. Then I'm going home to change +my clothes and get a hat, and then I'm going to my office to look +after some matters there; then I'm going with you to do some +shopping, and then I'm going to the Green Tea-pot to meet Miss +Barbour. If you could go with me now it would save time. Can you go?" + +"If I can tell Father first. Wait for me, will you?" + +Around the corner Carmencita flew, and was back as the taxi-cab +stopped at Mother McNeil's door. Getting in, she sat upright and shut +her eyes. Van Landing was saying good-by and expressing proper +appreciation and mentally making notes of other forms of expression to +be made later; and as she waited her breath came in long, delicious +gasps through her half-parted lips. Presently she stooped over and +pinched her legs. + +"My legs," she said, "same ones. And my cheeks and my hair"--the +latter was pulled with vigor--"and my feet and my hands--all me, and +in a taxi-cab going Christmas shopping and maybe to a marriage, and I +didn't know he was living last week! Father says I mustn't speak to +people I don't know, but how can you know them if you don't speak? I +was born lucky, and I'm so glad I'm living that if I was a rooster I'd +crow. Oh, Mr. Van, are you ready?" + +The next few hours to Carmencita were the coming true of dreams that +had long been denied, and from one thrill to another she passed in a +delicious ecstasy which made pinching of some part of her body +continually necessary. While Van Landing dressed she waited in his +library, wandering in wide-eyed awe and on tiptoe from one part of the +room to the other, touching here and there with the tips of her +fingers a book or picture or piece of furniture, and presently in +front of a footstool she knelt down and closed her eyes. + +Quickly, however, she opened them and, with head on the side, looked +around and listened. This wasn't a time to be seen. The silence +assuring, she again shut her eyes very tight and the palms of her +hands, uplifted, were pressed together. + +"Please, dear God, I just want to thank you," she began. "It's awful +sudden and unexpected having a day like this, and I don't guess +to-morrow will be much, not a turkey Christmas or anything like that, +but to-day is grand. I'd say more, but some one is coming. Amen." And +with a scramble she was on her feet, the stool behind her, as Van +Landing came in the room. + +The ride to the office through crowded streets was breathlessly +thrilling, and during it Carmencita did not speak. At the window of +the taxi she pressed her face so closely that the glass had +continually to be wiped lest the cloud made by her breath prevent her +seeing clearly; and, watching her, Van Landing smiled. What an odd, +elfish, wistful little face it was--keen, alert, intelligent, it +reflected every emotion that filled her, and her emotions were many. +In her long, ill-fitting coat and straw hat, in the worn shoes and +darned gloves, she was a study that puzzled and perplexed, and at +thought of her future he frowned. What became of them--these children +with little chance? Was it to try and learn and help that Frances was +living in their midst? + +In his office Herrick and Miss Davis were waiting. Work had been +pretty well cleared up, and there was little to be done, and as Van +Landing saw them the memory of his half-waking, half-dreaming thought +concerning them came to him, and furtively he looked from one to the +other. + +In a chair near the window, hands in her lap and feet on the rounds, +Carmencita waited, her eyes missing no detail of the scene about her, +and at Miss Davis, who came over to talk to her, she looked with +frank admiration. For a moment there was hesitating uncertainty in Van +Landing's face; then he turned to Herrick. + +"Come into the next room, will you, Herrick? I want to speak to you a +minute." + +What he was going to say he did not know. Herrick was such a steady +old chap, from him radiated such uncomplaining patience, about him was +such aloofness concerning his private affairs, that to speak to him on +personal matters was difficult. He handed him cigars and lighted one +himself. + +"I'm going to close the office, Herrick, until after New-Year," he +began. "I thought perhaps you might like to go away." + +"I would." Herrick, whose cigar was unlighted, smiled slightly. "But I +don't think I'll go." + +"Why not?" + +Herrick hesitated, and his face flushed. He was nearing forty, and his +hair was already slightly gray. "There are several reasons," he said, +quietly. "Until I am able to be married I do not care to go away. She +would be alone, and Christmas alone--" + +"Is--is it Miss Davis, Herrick?" Van Landing's voice was strangely +shy; then he held out his hand. "You're a lucky man, Herrick. I +congratulate you. Why didn't you tell me before; and if you want to +get married, why not? What's the use of waiting? The trip's on me. +Christmas alone--I forgot to say I've intended for some time to raise +your salary. You deserve it, and it was thoughtlessness that made me +put it off." He sat down at his desk and took his check-book out of a +spring-locked drawer and wrote hastily upon it. "That may help to +start things, Herrick, and if there's any other way--" + +In Herrick's astonished face the blood pumped deep and red, and as he +took the check Van Landing put in his hands his fingers twitched +nervously. It was beyond belief that Van Landing should have +guessed--and the check! It would mean the furnishing of the little +flat they had looked at yesterday and hoped would stay unrented for a +few months longer; meant a trip, and a little put aside to add to +their slow savings. Now that his sister was married and his brother +out of school, he could save more, but with this--He tried to speak, +then turned away and walked over to the window. + +"Call her in, Herrick, and let's have it settled. Why not get the +license to-day and be married to-morrow? Oh, Miss Davis!" He opened +the door and beckoned to his stenographer, who was showing Carmencita +her typewriter. "Come in, will you? Never mind. We'll come in there." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Miss Davis, who had risen, stood with one hand on her desk; the other +went to her lips. Something was the matter. What was it? + +"I hope you won't mind Carmencita knowing." Van Landing drew the child +to him. "She is an admirable arranger and will like to help, I'm sure. +Miss Davis and Mr. Herrick are going to be married to-morrow, +Carmencita, and spend their holiday--wherever they choose. Why, Miss +Davis--why, you've never done like this before!" + +Miss Davis was again in her chair, and, with arms on her desk and face +buried in them, her shoulders were making little twitchy movements. +She was trying desperately hard to keep back something that mustn't be +heard, and in a flash Carmencita was on her knees beside her. + +"Oh, Miss Davis, I don't know you much, but I'm so glad, and of course +it's awful exciting to get married without knowing you're going to do +it; but you mustn't cry, Miss Davis--you mustn't, really!" + +"I'm not crying." Head up, the pretty brown eyes, wet and shining, +looked first at Herrick and then at Van Landing, and a handkerchief +wiped two quivering lips. "I'm not crying, only--only it's so sudden, +and to-morrow is Christmas, and a boarding-house Christmas--" Again +the flushed face was buried in her arms and tears came hot and +fast--happy, blinding tears. + +Moving chairs around that were not in the way, going to the window and +back again, locking up what did not require locking, putting on his +hat and taking it off without knowing what he was doing, Van Landing, +nevertheless, managed in an incredibly short time to accomplish a good +many things and to make practical arrangements. Herrick and Miss Davis +were to come to his apartment at one o'clock to-morrow and bring the +minister. They would be married at once and have dinner immediately +after with him--and with a friend or two, perhaps. Carmencita and her +father would also be there, and they could leave for a trip as soon as +they wished. They must hurry; there was no time to lose--not a +minute. + +With a few words to the office-boy, the elevator-boy, the janitor, and +additional remembrances left with the latter for the charwoman, the +watchman, and several others not around, they were out in the street +and Carmencita again helped in the cab. + +For a moment there was dazed silence, then she turned to Van Landing. +"Would you mind sticking this in me?" she asked, and handed him a bent +pin. "Is--is it really sure-enough what we've been doing, or am I +making up. Stick hard, please--real hard." + +Van Landing laughed. "No need for the pin." He threw it away. "You're +awake, all right. I've been asleep a long time, and you--have waked +me, Carmencita." + +For two delicious hours the child led and Van Landing followed. In and +out of stores they went with quickness and decision, and soon on the +seat and on the floor of the cab boxes and bundles of many shapes and +sizes were piled, and then Carmencita said there should be nothing +else. + +"It's awful wickedness, Mr. Van, to spend so much." Her head nodded +vigorously. "The children will go crazy, and so will their mothers, +and they'll pop open if they eat some of all the things you've bought +for them, and we mustn't get another one. It's been grand, but--You're +not drunk, are you, Mr. Van, and don't know what you're doing?" + +Her voice trailed off anxiously, and in her eyes came sudden, sober +fear. + +Again Van Landing laughed. "I think perhaps I am drunk, but not in the +way you mean, Carmencita. It's a matter of spirits, however. Something +has gone to my head, or perhaps it's my heart. But I know very well +what I'm doing. There's one thing more. I forgot to tell you. I have a +little friend who has done a good deal for me. I want to get her a +present or two--some clothes and things that girls like. Your size, I +think, would fit her. I'd like--" + +"Is she rich or poor?" + +Van Landing hesitated. "She is rich. She has a wonderful imagination +and can see all sorts of things that others don't see, and her friends +are--" + +"Kings and queens, and fairies and imps, and ghosts and devils. I +know. I've had friends like that. Does she like pink or blue?" + +"I think she likes--blue." Again Van Landing hesitated. Silks and +satins might be Carmencita's choice. Silks and satins would not do. "I +don't mean she has money, and I believe she'd rather have practical +things." + +"No, she wouldn't! Girls hate practical things." The long, loose, +shabby coat was touched lightly. "This is practical. Couldn't she have +one pair of shiny slippers, just one, with buckles on them? Maybe +she's as Cinderellary as I am. I'd rather stick my foot out with a +diamond-buckle slipper on it than eat. I do when my princess friends +call, and they always say: 'Oh, Carmencita, what a charming foot you +have!' And that's it. _That_!" And Carmencita's foot with it's coarse +and half-worn shoe was held out at full length. "But we've got to +hurry, or we won't be at the Green Tea-pot by two o'clock. Come on." + +With amazing discrimination Carmencita made her purchases, and only +once or twice did she overstep the limitations of practicality and +insist upon a present that could be of little use to its recipient. +For the giving of joy the selection of a pair of shining slippers, a +blue satin sash, and a string of amber beads were eminently suitable, +however, and, watching, Van Landing saw her eyes gleam over the +precious possessions she was supposedly buying for some one else, a +child of her own age, and he made no objection to the selections made. + +"Even if she don't wear them she will have them." And Carmencita drew +a long, deep sigh of satisfaction. "It's so nice to know you have got +something you can peep at every now and then. It's like eating when +you're hungry. Oh, I do hope she'll like them! Is it two, Mr. Van?" + +It was ten minutes to two, and, putting Carmencita into the +bundle-packed cab, Van Landing ordered the latter to the Green +Tea-pot, then, getting in, leaned back, took off his hat, and wiped +his forehead. Tension seemed suddenly to relax and his heart for a +moment beat thickly; then with a jerk he sat upright. Carmencita was +again absorbed in watching the crowds upon the streets, and, when the +cab stopped, jumped as if awakened from a dream. + +"Are we here already? Oh, my goodness! There she is!" + +Miss Barbour was going in the doorway, and as Van Landing saw the +straight, slender figure, caught the turn of the head, held in the way +that was hers alone, the years that were gone slipped out of memory +and she was his again. His--With a swift movement he was out of the +cab and on the street and about to follow her when Carmencita touched +him on the arm. + +"Let me go first. She doesn't know you're coming. We'll get a table +near the door." + +The crowd separated them, but through it Carmencita wriggled her way +quickly and disappeared. Waiting, Van Landing saw her rush up to Miss +Barbour, then slip in a chair at a table whose occupants were leaving, +and motion Frances to do the same. As the tired little waitress, after +taking off the soiled cloth and putting on a fresh one, went away for +necessary equipment Van Landing opened the door and walked in and to +the table and held out his hand. + +"You would not let me thank you this morning. May I thank you now +for--" + +[Illustration: "YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I +THANK YOU NOW FOR--"] + +"Finding him?" Carmencita leaned halfway over the table, and her big +blue eyes looked anxiously at first one and then the other. "He was +looking for you, Miss Frances; he'd been looking all day and all night +because he'd just heard you were somewhere down here, and he's come to +have lunch with us, and--Oh, it's Christmas, Miss Frances, and please +tell him--say something, do something! He's been waiting three +years, and he can't wait another minute. Gracious! that smells good!" + +The savory dish that passed caused a turn in Carmencita's head, and +Frances Barbour, looking into the eyes that were looking into hers, +held out her hand. At sight of Van Landing her face had colored +richly, then the color had left it, leaving it white, and in her eyes +was that he had never seen before. + +"There is nothing for which to thank me." Her voice with its freshness +and sweetness stirred as of old, but it was low. She smiled slightly. +"I am very glad you are all right this morning. I did not know you +knew our part of the town." Her hand was laid on Carmencita's. + +"I didn't until I met your little friend. I had never been in it +before. I know it now very well." + +"And he was so fighting mad because he couldn't see you when I sent +the note that he went out, not knowing where he was or how to get +back, and when his senses came on again and he tried to find out he +couldn't find, and he walked 'most all night and was lost like people +in a desert who go round and round. And the next day he walked all +day long and 'most froze, and he'd passed Mother McNeil's house a +dozen times and didn't know it; and he was chasing Noodles and just +leaning against that railing when the cop came and you came. Oh, Miss +Frances, it's Christmas! Won't you please make up and--When are we +going to eat?" + +Miss Barbour's hand closed over Carmencita's twisting ones, and into +her face again sprang color; then she laughed. "We are very hungry, +Mr. Van Landing. Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?" + +An hour later Carmencita leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap +and eyes closed. Presently one hand went out. "Don't ask me anything +for a minute, will you? I've got to think about something. When you're +ready to go let me know." + +Through the meal Carmencita's flow of words and flow of spirits had +saved the silences that fell, in spite of effort, between Van Landing +and Miss Barbour, and under the quiet poise so characteristic of her +he had seen her breath come unsteadily. Could he make her care for him +again? With eyes no longer guarded he looked at her, leaned forward. + +"From here," he said, "where are you going?" + +"Home. I mean to Mother McNeil's. Carmencita says you and she have +done my shopping." She smiled slightly and lifted a glass of water to +her lips. "The tree is to be dressed this afternoon, and to-night the +children come." + +"And I--when can I come?" + +"You?" She glanced at Carmencita, who was now sitting with her chin on +the back of her chair, arms clasping the latter, watching the strange +and fascinating scene of people ordering what they wanted to eat and +eating as much of it as they wanted. "I don't know. I am very busy. +After Christmas, perhaps." + +"You mean for me there is to be no Christmas? Am I to be for ever kept +outside, Frances?" + +"Outside?" She looked up and away. "I have no home. We are +both--outside. To have no home at Christmas is--" Quickly she got up. +"We must go. It is getting late, and there is much to do." + +For one swift moment she let his eyes hold hers, and in his burned all +the hunger of the years of loss; then, taking up her muff, she went +toward the door. On the street she hesitated, then held out her hand. +"Good-by, Mr. Van Landing. I hope you will have a happy Christmas." + +"Do you?" Van Landing opened the cab door. "Get in, please. I will +come in another cab." Stooping, he pushed aside some boxes and bundles +and made room for Carmencita. "I'll be around at four to help dress +the tree. Wait until I come." He nodded to the cabman; then, lifting +his hat, he closed the door with a click and, turning, walked away. + +"Carmencita! oh, Carmencita!" Into the child's eyes the beautiful ones +of her friend looked with sudden appeal, and the usually steady hands +held those of Carmencita with frightened force. "What have you done? +What have you done?" + +"Done?" Carmencita's fingers twisted into those of her beloved, and +her laugh was joyous. "Done! Not much yet. I've just begun. Did--did +you know you were to have a grand Christmas present, Miss Frances? You +are. It's--it's alive!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +The time intervening before his return to help with the tree was spent +by Van Landing in a certain establishment where jewels were kept and +in telephoning Peterkin; and the orders to Peterkin were many. At four +o'clock he was back at Mother McNeil's. + +In the double parlor of the old-fashioned house, once the home of +wealth and power, the tree was already in place, and around it, in +crowded confusion, were boxes and barrels, and bundles and toys, and +clothes and shoes, and articles of unknown name and purpose, and for a +moment he hesitated. Hands in his pockets, he looked first at Mother +McNeil and then at a little lame boy on the floor beside an open +trunk, out of which he was taking gaily-colored ornaments and +untangling yards of tinsel; and then he looked at Frances, who, with a +big apron over her black dress, with its soft white collar open at the +throat, was holding a pile of empty stockings in her hands. + +"You are just in time, my son." Mother McNeil beamed warmly at the +uninvited visitor. "When a man can be of service, it's let him serve, +I say, and if you will get that step-ladder over there and fix this +angel on the top of the tree it will save time. Jenkins has gone for +more tinsel and more bread. We didn't intend at first to have +sandwiches and chocolate--just candy and nuts and things like +that--but it's so cold and snowy Frances thought something good and +hot would taste well. You can slice the bread, Mr. Van Landing. Four +sandwiches apiece for the boys and three for the girls are what we +allow." She looked around. "Hand him that angel, Frances, and show him +where to put it. I've got to see about the cakes." + +Never having fastened an angel to the top of a tree, for a half-moment +Van Landing was uncertain how to go about it, fearing exposure of +ignorance and awkwardness; then with a quick movement he was up the +ladder and looking down at the girl who was handing him a huge paper +doll dressed in the garments supposedly worn by the dwellers of +mansions in the sky, and as he took it he laughed. + +"This is a very worldly-looking angel. She apparently enjoys the +blowing of her trumpet. Stand off, will you, and see if that's right?" +Van Landing fastened the doll firmly to the top of the tree. "Does she +show well down there?" + +It was perfectly natural that he should be here and helping. True, he +had never heard of Mother McNeil and her home until two nights before, +never had dressed a Christmas tree before, or before gone where he was +not asked, but things of that sort no longer mattered. What mattered +was that he had found Frances, that it was the Christmas season, and +he was at last learning the secret of its hold on human hearts and +sympathies. There was no time to talk, but as he looked he watched, +with eyes that missed no movement that she made, the fine, fair face +that to him was like no other on earth, and, watching, he wondered if +she, too, wondered at the naturalness of it all. + +The years that had passed since he had seen her had left their +imprint. She had known great sorrow, also she had traveled much, and, +though about her were the grace and courage of old, there was +something else, something of nameless and compelling appeal, and he +knew that she, too, knew the loneliness of life. + +Quickly they worked, and greater and greater grew the confusion of +the continually appearing boxes and bundles, and, knee-deep, Mother +McNeil surveyed them, hands on her hips, and once or twice she brushed +her eyes. + +"It's always the way, my son. If you trust people they will not fail +you. When we learn how to understand there will be less hate and more +help in the world. Jenkins, bring that barrel of apples and box of +oranges over here and get a knife for Mr. Van Landing to cut the bread +for the sandwiches. It's time to make them. Matilda, call Abraham in. +He can slice the ham and cheese. There must be plenty. Boys are +hollow. Frances, have you seen my scissors?" + +Out of what seemed hopeless confusion and chaotic jumbling, out of +excited coming and going, and unanswered questions, and slamming of +doors, and hurried searchings, order at last evolved, and, feeling +very much as if he'd been in a football match, Van Landing surveyed +the rooms with a sense of personal pride in their completeness. Around +the tree, placed between the two front windows, were piled countless +packages, each marked, and from the mantelpiece hung a row of bulging +stockings, reinforced by huge mounds of the same on the floor, +guarded already by old Fetch-It. Holly and cedar gave color and +fragrance, and at the uncurtained windows wreaths, hung by crimson +ribbons, sent a welcome to the waiting crowd outside. + +If he were not here he would be alone, with nothing to do. And +Christmas eve alone! He drew in his breath and looked at Frances. In +her face was warm, rich color, and her eyes were gay and bright, but +she was tired. She would deny it if asked. He did not have to ask. If +only he could take her away and let her rest! + +She was going up-stairs to change her dress. Half-way up the steps he +called her, and, leaning against the rail of the banisters, he looked +up at her. + +"When you come down I must see you, Frances--and alone. I shall wait +here for you." + +"I cannot see you alone. There will be no time." + +"Then we must make time. I tell you I must see you." Something in her +eyes made him hesitate. He must try another way. "Listen, Frances. I +want you to do me a favor. There's a young girl in my office, my +stenographer, who is to be married to-morrow to my head clerk. She is +from a little town very far from here and has no relatives, no +intimate friends near enough to go to. She lives in a boarding-house, +and she can't afford to go home to be married. I have asked Herrick to +bring her to my apartment to-morrow and marry her there. I would like +her to have--Carmencita and her father are coming, and I want you to +come, too. It would make things nicer for her. Will you come--you and +Mother McNeil?" + +Over the banisters the beautiful eyes looked down into Van Landing's. +Out of them had gone guarding. In them was that which sent the blood +in hot surge through his heart. "I would love to come, but I am going +out of town to-morrow--going--" + +"Home?" In Van Landing's voice was unconcealed dismay. The glow of +Christmas, new and warm and sweet, died sharply, leaving him cold and +full of fear. "Are you going home?" + +She shook her head. "I have no home. That is why I am going away +to-morrow. Mother McNeil will have her family here, and I'd be--I'd be +an outsider. It's everybody's home day--and when you haven't a home--" + +She turned and went a few steps farther on to where the stairs +curved, then suddenly she sat down and crumpled up and turned her face +to the wall. With leaps that took the steps two at a time Van Landing +was beside her. + +"Frances!" he said, "Frances!" and in his arms he held her close. +"You've found out, too! Thank God, you've found out, too!" + +Below, a door opened and some one was in the hall. Quickly Frances was +on her feet. "You must not, must not, Stephen--not here!" + +"Goodness gracious! they've done made up." + +At the foot of the steps Carmencita, as if paralyzed with delight, +stood for a moment, then, shutting tight her eyes, ran back whence she +came; at the door she stopped. + +"Carmencita! Carmencita!" It was Van Landing's voice. She turned her +head. "Come here, Carmencita. I have something to tell you." + +Eyes awed and shining, Carmencita came slowly up the steps. Reaching +them, with a spring she threw her arms around her dear friend's neck +and kissed her lips again and again and again, then held out her hands +to the man beside her. "Is--is it to be to-morrow, Mr. Van?" + +"It is to be to-morrow, Carmencita." + +For a half-moment there was quivering silence; then Van Landing spoke +again. "There are some things I must attend to to-night. Early +to-morrow I will come for you, Frances, and in Dr. Pierson's church we +will be married. Herrick and Miss Davis are coming at one o'clock, and +my--wife must be there to receive them. And you, too, Carmencita--you +and your father. We are going to have--" Van Landing's voice was +unsteady. "We are going to have Christmas at home, Frances. Christmas +at home!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Lifting herself on her elbow, Carmencita listened. There was no sound +save the ticking of the little clock on the mantel. For a moment she +waited, then with a swift movement of her hand threw back the covering +on the cot, slipped from it, and stood, barefooted, in her nightgown, +in the middle of the floor. Head on the side, one hand to her mouth, +the other outstretched as if for silence from some one unseen, she +raised herself on tiptoe and softly, lightly, crossed the room to the +door opening into the smaller room wherein her father slept. Hand on +the knob, she listened, and, the soft breathing assuring her he was +asleep, she closed the door, gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, and +hurried back to the cot, close to which she sat down, put on her +stockings, and tied on her feet a pair of worn woolen slippers, once +the property of her prudent and practical friend, Miss Cattie Burns. +Slipping on her big coat over her gown, she tiptoed to the mantel, +lighted the candle upon it, and looked at the clock. + +"Half past twelve," she said, "and Father's stocking not filled yet!" + +As she got down from the chair on which she had stood to see the hour +her foot caught in the ripped hem of her coat. She tripped, and would +have fallen had she not steadied herself against the table close to +the stove, and as she did so she laughed under her breath. + +"Really this kimono is much too long." She looked down on the loosened +hem. "And I oughtn't to wear my best accordion-pleated pale-blue crepe +de Chine and shadow lace when I am so busy. But dark-gray things are +so unbecoming, and, besides, I may have a good deal of company +to-night. The King of Love and the Queen of Hearts may drop in, and I +wouldn't have time to change. Miss Lucrecia Beck says I'm going to +write a book when I'm big, I'm so fond of making up and of +love-things. She don't know I've written one already. If he hadn't +happened to be standing on that corner looking so--so--I don't know +what, exactly, but so something I couldn't help running down and +asking him to come up--I never would have had the day I've had to-day +and am going to have to-morrow." + +Stooping, she pinned the hem of her coat carefully, then, stretching +out her arms, stood on her tiptoes and spun noiselessly round and +round. "Can't help it!" she said, as if to some one who objected. "I'm +so glad I'm living, so glad I spoke to him, and know him, that I'm +bound to let it out. Father says I mustn't speak to strangers; but I'd +have to be dead not to talk, and I didn't think about his being a man. +He looked so lonely." + +With quick movements a big gingham apron was tied over the bulky coat, +and, putting the candle on the table in the middle of the room, +Carmencita began to move swiftly from cot to cupboard, from chairs to +book-shelves, and from behind and under each bundles and boxes of +varying sizes were brought forth and arrayed in rows on the little +table near the stove. As the pile grew bigger so did her eyes, and in +her cheeks, usually without color, two spots burned deep and red. +Presently she stood off and surveyed her work and, hands clasped +behind, began to count, her head nodding with each number. + +"Thirteen big ones and nineteen little ones," she said, "and I don't +know a thing that's in one of them. Gracious! this is a nice world to +live in! I wonder what makes people so good to me? Mrs. Robinsky +brought up those six biggest ones to-night." Lightly her finger was +laid on each. "She said they were left with her to be sent up +to-morrow morning, but there wouldn't be a thing to send if she +waited, as the children kept pinching and poking so to see what was in +them. I'd like to punch myself. Noodles gave me that." Her head nodded +at a queer-shaped package wrapped in brown paper and tied with green +cord. "He paid nineteen cents for it. He told me so. I didn't pay but +five for what I gave him. He won't brush his teeth or clean his +finger-nails, and I told him I wasn't going to give him a thing if he +didn't, but I haven't a bit of hold-out-ness at Christmas. I wonder +what's in that?" + +Cautiously her hand was laid on a box wrapped in white tissue-paper +and tied with red ribbons. "I'll hate to open it and see, it looks so +lovely and Christmasy, but if I don't see soon I'll die from wanting +to know. It rattled a little when I put it on the table. It's Miss +Frances's present, and I know it isn't practical. She's like I am. She +don't think Christmas is for plain and useful things. She thinks it's +for pleasure and pretty ones. I wonder--" Her hands were pressed to +her breast, and on tiptoes she leaned quiveringly toward the table. "I +wonder if it could be a new tambourine with silver bells on it! If it +is I'll die for joy, I'll be so glad! I broke mine to-night. I shook +it so hard when I was dancing after I got home from the tree +that--Good gracious! I've caught my foot again! These diamond buckles +on my satin slippers are always catching the chiffon ruffles on my +petticoats. I oughtn't to wear my best things when I'm busy, but I +can't stand ugly ones, even to work in. Mercy! it's one o'clock, and +the things for Father's stocking aren't out yet." + +Out of the bottom drawer of the old-fashioned chest at the end of the +room a box was taken and laid on the floor near the stove, into which +a small stick of wood was put noiselessly, and carefully Carmencita +sat down beside it. Taking off the top of the box, she lifted first a +large-size stocking and held it up. + +"I wish I was one hundred children's mother at Christmas and had a +hundred stockings to fill! I mean, if I had things to fill them with. +But as I'm not a mother, just a daughter, I'm thankful glad I've got +a father to fill a stocking for. He's the only child I've got. If he +could just see how beautiful and red this apple is, and how yellow +this orange, and what a darling little candy harp _this_ is, I'd be +thankfuler still. But he won't ever see. The doctor said so--said I +must be his eyes." + +One by one the articles were taken out of the box and laid on the +floor; and carefully, critically, each was examined. + +"This cravat is an awful color." Carmencita's voice made an effort to +be polite and failed. "Mr. Robinsky bought it for father himself and +asked me to put it in his stocking, but I hate to put. I'll have to do +it, of course, and father won't know the colors, but what on earth +made him get a green-and-red plaid? Now listen at me! I'm doing just +what Miss Lucrecia does to everything that's sent her. The only +pleasure she gets out of her presents is making fun of them and +snapping at the people who send them. She's an awful snapper. The +Damanarkist sent these cigars. They smell good. He don't believe in +Christmas, but he sent Father and me both a present. I hope he'll like +the picture-frame I made for his mother's picture. His mother's dead, +but he believed in her. She was the only thing he did believe in. A +man who don't believe in his mother--Oh, _my_ precious mother!" + +With a trembling movement the little locket was taken from the box and +opened and the picture in it kissed passionately; then, without +warning, the child crumpled up and hot tears fell fast over the +quivering face. "I do want you, my mother! Everybody wants a mother at +Christmas, and I haven't had one since I was seven. Father tries to +fill my stocking, but it isn't a mother-stocking, and I just ache and +ache to--to have one like you'd fix. I want--" The words came +tremblingly, and presently she sat up. + +"Carmencita Bell, you are a baby. Behave--your--self!" With the end of +the gingham apron the big blue eyes were wiped. "You can't do much in +this world, but you can keep from crying. Suppose Father was to know." +Her back straightened and her head went up. "Father isn't ever going +to know, and if I don't fill this stocking it won't be hanging on the +end of the mantelpiece when he wakes up. The locket must go in the +toe." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +In half an hour the stocking, big and bulging, was hung in its +accustomed place, the packages for her father put on a chair by +themselves, and those for her left on the table, and as she rearranged +the latter something about the largest one arrested her attention, +and, stopping, she gazed at it with eyes puzzled and uncertain. + +It looked--Cautiously her fingers were laid upon it. Undoubtedly it +looked like the box in which had been put the beautiful dark-blue coat +she had bought for the little friend of her friend. And that other box +was the size of the one the two dresses had been put in; and that was +a hat-box, and that a shoe-box, and the sash and beads and gloves and +ribbons, all the little things, had been put in a box that size. Every +drop of blood surged hotly, tremblingly, and with eyes staring and +lips half parted her breath came unsteadily. + +In the confusion of their coming she had not noticed when Mrs. +Robinsky had brought them up and put them under the cot, with the +injunction that they were not to be opened until the morning, and for +the first time their familiarity was dawning on her. Could it +be--could _she_ be the little friend he had said was rich? She wasn't +rich. He didn't mean money-rich, but she wasn't any kind of rich; and +she had been so piggy. + +Hot color swept over her face, and her hands twitched. She had told +him again and again she was getting too much, but he had insisted on +her buying more, and made her tell him what little girls liked, until +she would tell nothing more. And they had all been for her. For her, +Carmencita Bell, who had never heard of him three days before. + +In the shock of revelation, the amazement of discovery, the little +figure at the table stood rigid and upright, then it relaxed and with +a stifled sob Carmencita crossed the room and, by the side of her cot, +twisted herself into a little knot and buried her face in her arms and +her arms in the covering. + +"I didn't believe! I didn't believe!" + +Over and over the words came tremblingly. "I prayed and prayed, but I +didn't believe! He let it happen, and I didn't believe!" + +For some moments there were queer movements of twitching hands and +twisting feet by the side of the cot, but after a while a +tear-stained, awed, and shy-illumined face looked up from the arms in +which it had been hidden and ten slender fingers intertwined around +the knees of a hunched-up little body, which on the floor drew itself +closer to the fire. + +It was a wonderful world, this world in which she lived. Carmencita's +eyes were looking toward the window, through which she could see the +shining stars. Wonderful things happened in it, and quite beyond +explaining were these things, and there was no use trying to +understand. Two days ago she was just a little girl who lived in a +place she hated and was too young to go to work, and who had a blind +father and no rich friends or relations, and there was nothing nice +that could happen just so. + +"But things don't happen just so. They happen--don't anybody know how, +I guess." Carmencita nodded at the stars. "I've prayed a good many +times before and nothing happened, and I don't know why all this +beautifulness should have come to me, and Mrs. Beckwith, who is good +as gold, though a poor manager with babies, shouldn't ever have any +luck. I don't understand, but I'm awful thankful. I wish I could let +God know, and the Christ-child know, how thankful I am. Maybe the way +they'd like me to tell is by doing something nice for somebody else. I +know. I'll ask Miss Parker to supper Christmas night. She's an awful +poky person and needs new teeth, but she says she's so sick of mending +pants, she wishes some days she was dead. And I'll ask the +Damanarkist. He hasn't anywhere to go, and he hates rich people so +it's ruined his stomach. Hate is an awful ruiner." + +For some moments longer Carmencita sat in huddled silence, then +presently she spoke again. + +"I didn't intend to give Miss Cattie Burns anything. I've tried to +like Miss Cattie and I can't. But it was very good in her to send us a +quarter of a cord of wood for a Christmas present. She can't help +being practical. I'll take her that red geranium to-morrow. I raised +it from a slip, and I hate to see it go, but it's all I've got to +give. It will have to go. + +"And to-morrow. I mean to-day--this is Christmas day! Oh, a happy +Christmas, everybody!" Carmencita's arms swung out, then circled +swiftly back to her heart. "For everybody in all the world I'd make it +happy if I could! And I'm going to a wedding to-day--a wedding! I +don't wonder you're thrilly, Carmencita Bell!" + +For a half-moment breath came quiveringly from the parted lips, then +again at the window and the stars beyond the little head nodded. + +"But I'll never wonder at things happening any more. I'll just wonder +at there being so many nice people on this earth. All are not nice. +The Damanarkist says there is a lot of rot in them, a lot of meanness +and cheatingness, and nasty people who don't want other people to do +well or to get in their way; but there's bound to be more niceness +than nastiness, or the world couldn't go on. It couldn't without a lot +of love. It takes a lot of love to stand life. I read that in a book. +Maybe that's why we have Christmas--why the Christ-child came." + +Shyly the curly head was bent on the upraised knees, and the palms of +two little hands were uplifted. "O God, all I've got to give is love. +Help me never to forget, and put a lot in my heart so I'll always +have it ready. And I thank You and thank You for letting such grand +things happen. I didn't dream there'd really be a marriage when I +asked You please to let it be if you could manage it; but there's +going to be two, and I'm going to both. I've got a new dress to wear, +and slippers with buckles, and amber beads, and lots of other things. +And most of all I thank You for Mr. Van and Miss Frances finding each +other. And please don't let them ever lose each other again. They +might, even if they are married, if they don't take care. Please help +them to take care, for Christ's sake. Amen." + + * * * * * + +On her feet, Carmencita patted the stocking hanging from the mantel, +took off the big coat, kicked the large, loose slippers across the +room, blew out the candle, and stood for a moment poised on the tip of +her toes. + +"If I could"--the words came breathlessly--"if I could I'd dance like +the lady I was named for, but it might wake Father. I mustn't wake +Father. Good night, everybody--and a merry Christmas to all this nice, +big world!" + +With a spring that carried her across the room Carmencita was on her +cot and beneath its covering, which she drew up to her face. Under +her breath she laughed joyously, and her arms were hugged to her +heart. + +"To-morrow--I mean to-day--I am going to tell them. They don't +understand yet. They think it was just an accident." She shook her +head. "It wasn't an accident. After they're married I'm going to tell +them. Tell them how it happened." + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of How It Happened, by Kate Langley Bosher + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14723 *** diff --git a/14723-h/14723-h.htm b/14723-h/14723-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..af82304 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/14723-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3529 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of How It Happened, by Kate Langley Bosher. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; margin-right: .2em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14723 ***</div> + +<h1>HOW IT HAPPENED</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>KATE LANGLEY BOSHER</h2> + +<p class="center"><br />AUTHOR OF</p> + +<p class="center">THE MAN IN LONELY LAND,<br /> +MARY CARY, ETC<br /><br /></p> + +<p class="center">ILLUSTRATED<br /></p> + + +<p class="center">PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 1914<br /><br /></p> + + +<p class="center">TO +MY FAITHFUL FRIEND<br /> +ARIADNE ELIZABETH VAUGHAN LATHAM +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<p class="center"> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII</b></a><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<p class="center">"WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR TOASTED CHEESE +ON TOAST?"</p> + +<p class="center">"YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I THANK YOU NOW +FOR—"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>HOW IT HAPPENED</h1> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I" />CHAPTER I</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 74px;"> +<img src="images/01.png" width="74" height="120" alt="H" title="H" /> +</div><p>ead on the side and chin uptilted, she held it at arm's-length, +turning it now in one direction, now in another, then with +deliberation she laid it on the floor.</p> + +<p>"I have wanted to do it ever since you were sent me; now I am going +to."</p> + +<p>Hands on hips, she looked down on the high-crown, narrow-brim hat of +stiff gray felt which was at her feet, and nodded at it with firmness +and decision. "It's going to be my Christmas present to +myself—getting rid of you. Couldn't anything give me as much pleasure +as smashing you is going to give. Good-by—"</p> + +<p>Raising her right foot, Carmencita held it poised for a half-moment +over the hated hat, then with long-restrained energy she brought it +down on the steeple-crown and crushed it into shapelessness. "I wish +she could see you now." Another vigorous punch was given, then with a +swift movement the battered bunch of dull grayness, with its yellow +bird and broken buckle of tarnished steel, was sent in the air, and as +it landed across the room the child laughed gaily, ran toward it, and +with the tip of her toes tossed it here and there. Sending it now up +to the ceiling, now toward the mantel, now kicking it over the table, +and now to the top of the window, she danced round and round the room, +laughing breathlessly. Presently she stooped, picked it up, stuck it +on her head, and, going to the stove, opened its top, and with a shake +of her curls dropped the once haughty and now humbled head-gear in the +fire and watched it burn with joyous satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"The first time she wore it we called her Coachman Cattie, it was so +stiff and high and hideous, and nobody but a person like her would +ever have bought it. I never thought it would some day come to me. +Some missioners are nice, some very nice, but some—"</p> + +<p>With emphasis the lid of the stove was put back, and, going to the +table in the middle of the room, Carmencita picked up the contents of +the little work-basket, which had been knocked over in her rushing +round, and put them slowly in place. "Some missioners seem to think +because you're poor everything God put in other people's hearts and +minds and bodies and souls He left out of you. Of course, if you +haven't a hat you ought to be thankful for any kind." The words came +soberly, and the tiniest bit of a quiver twisted the lips of the +protesting mouth. "You oughtn't to know whether it is pretty or ugly +or becoming or—You ought just to be thankful and humble, and I'm not +either. I don't like thankful, humble people; I'm afraid of them."</p> + +<p>Leaving the table where for a minute she had jumbled needles and +thread and scissors and buttons in the broken basket, she walked +slowly over to the tiny mirror hung above a chest of drawers, and on +tiptoes nodded at the reflection before her—nodded and spoke to it.</p> + +<p>"You're a sinner, all right, Carmencita Bell, and there's no natural +goodness in you. You hate hideousness, and poorness, and other +people's cast-offs, and emptiness in your stomach, and living on the +top floor with crying babies and a drunken father underneath, and +counting every stick of wood before you use it. And you get furious +at times because your father is blind and people have forgotten about +his beautiful music, and you want chicken and cake when you haven't +even enough bacon and bread. You're a sinner, all right. If you were +in a class of them you would be at the head. It's the only thing you'd +ever be at the head of. You know you're poverty-poor, and still you're +always fighting inside, always making out that it is just for a little +while. Why don't you—"</p> + +<p>The words died on her lips, and suddenly the clear blue eyes, made for +love and laughter and eager for all that is lovely in life, dimmed +with hot tears, and with a half-sob she turned and threw herself face +downward on the rug-covered cot on the opposite side of the room.</p> + +<p>"O God, please don't let Father know!" The words came in tones that +were terrified. "Please don't ever let him know! I wasn't born good, +and I hate bad smells, and dirty things, and ugly clothes, and not +enough to eat, but until I am big enough to go to work please, +<i>please</i> help me to keep Father from knowing! Please help me!"</p> + +<p>With a twisting movement the child curled herself into a little ball, +and for a moment tempestuous sobbing broke the stillness of the room, +notwithstanding the knuckles of two little red hands which were +pressed to the large sweet mouth. Presently she lifted the hem of her +skirt and wiped her eyes, then she got up.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could cry as much as I want to. I never have had a place +convenient to do it all by myself, and there's never time, but it gets +the choked things out and makes you feel much better. I don't often +want to, just sometimes, like before Christmas when you're crazy to do +a lot of things you can't do—and some people make you so mad! If I'd +been born different and not minding ugly things and loving pretty +ones, I wouldn't have hated that hat so. That's gone, anyhow. I've +been wanting to see how high I could kick it ever since Miss Cattie +sent it to me, and now I've done it. I've got a lot of old clothes I'd +like to send to Ballyhack, but I can't send."</p> + +<p>She stopped, smoothed her rumpled dress, and shook back the long loose +curls which had fallen over her face. "I must be getting sorry for +myself. If I am I ought to be spanked. I can't spank, but I can dance. +If you don't head it off quick it goes to your liver. I'll head!"</p> + +<p>With a swift movement Carmencita sprang across the room and from the +mantel took down a once beribboned but now faded and worn tambourine. +"You'd rather cry," she said, under her breath, "but you sha'n't cry. +I won't let you. Dance! Dance! Dance!"</p> + +<p>Aloft the tambourine was shaken, and its few remaining bells broke +gaily on the air as with abandon that was bewildering in grace and +suppleness the child leaped into movement swift and light and amazing +in beauty. Around the room, one arm akimbo, one hand now in the air, +now touching with the tambourine the hard, bare floor, now tossing +back the loose curls, now waving gaily overhead, faster and faster she +danced, her feet in perfect rhythm to the bells; then presently the +tambourine was thrown upon the table, and she stopped beside it, face +flushed, eyes shining, and breath that came in quick, short gasps.</p> + +<p>"That was much better than crying." She laughed. "There isn't much you +can do in this world, Carmencita, but you can dance. You've got to do +it, too, every time you feel sorry for yourself. I wonder if I could +see Miss Frances before I go for Father? I <i>must</i> see her. Must! Those +Beckwith babies have got the croup, and I want to ask her if she +thinks it's awful piggy in me to put all my money, or 'most all, in +Father's present. And I want to ask her—I could ask Miss Frances +things all night. Maybe the reason I'm not a thankful person is I'm so +inquiring. I expect to spend the first hundred years after I get to +heaven asking questions."</p> + +<p>Going over to the mantel, Carmencita looked at the little clock upon +it. "I don't have to go to the wedding-place for father until after +six," she said, slowly, "and I'd like to see Miss Frances before I go. +If I get there by half past five I can see the people get out of their +automobiles and sail in. I wish I could sail somewhere. If I could see +some grandness once and get the smell of cabbage and onions out of my +nose, which I never will as long as the Rheinhimers live underneath +us, I wouldn't mind the other things so much, but there isn't any +chance of grandness coming as high up in the air as this. I wonder if +God has forgot about us! He has so many to remember—"</p> + +<p>With a swift turn of her head, as if listening, Carmencita's eyes grew +shy and wistful, then she dropped on her knees by the couch and buried +her face in her arms. "If God's forgot I'll remind Him," she said, and +tightly she closed her eyes.</p> + +<p>"O God"—the words came eagerly, fervently—"we are living in the +same place, and every day I hope we will get in a better one, but +until we do please help me to keep on making Father think I like it +better than any other in town. I thought maybe You had forgotten where +we were. I'm too little to go to work yet, and that's why we're still +here. We can't pay any more rent, or we'd move. And won't You please +let something nice happen? I don't mean miracles, or money, or things +like that, but something thrilly and exciting and romantic, if You can +manage it. Every day is just the same sort of sameness, and I get so +mad-tired of cooking and cleaning and mending, before school and after +school and nights, that if something don't happen soon I'm afraid +Father will find out what a pretending person I am, and he mustn't +find. It's been much better since I knew Miss Frances. I'm awful much +obliged to You for letting me know her, but she isn't permanent, +Mother McNeil says, and may go away soon. I'm going to try to have a +grand Christmas and be as nice as I can to Mrs. Rheinhimer, but she's +so lazy and dirty it's hard not to tell her so. And if You could let a +nice thing happen for Christmas I hope You will. If it could be a +marriage and I could be bridesmaid I'd like that best, as I've never +been to an inside wedding, just outside on the street. I don't care +for poor marriages. Amen."</p> + +<p>On her feet, Carmencita hesitated, then, going to a closet across the +room, took from its top shelf a shabby straw hat and put it on. "This +was bought for me and fits," she said, as if to some one by her side, +"and, straw or no straw, it feels better than that Coachman Cattie, +which is gone for evermore. Some day I hope I can burn you up, +too"—she nodded to the coat into which she was struggling—"but I +can't do it yet. You're awful ugly and much too big, but you're warm +and the only one I've got. I'll have half an hour before it's time to +go for Father. If Miss Frances is home I can talk a lot in half an +hour."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II" />CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/02.png" width="73" height="120" alt="C" title="" /> +</div><p>armencita knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. After the +third knock she opened the door and, hand on the knob, looked in.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Frances, I was afraid you had gone out! I knocked and +knocked, but you didn't say come in, so I thought I'd look. Please +excuse me!"</p> + +<p>The girl at the sewing-machine, which was close to the window and far +from the door, stopped its running, turned in her chair, and held out +her hand. "Hello, Carmencita! I'm glad it's you and not Miss Perkins. +I wouldn't want Miss Perkins to see me trying to sew, but you can see. +Take off your coat. Is it cold out?"</p> + +<p>"Getting cold." The heavy coat was laid on one chair, and Carmencita, +taking up a half-made gingham dress from another, sat in it and laid +the garment in her lap. "I didn't know you knew how to sew."</p> + +<p>"I don't." The girl at the machine laughed. "Those Simcoe children +didn't have a dress to change in, and I'm practising on some skirts +and waists for them. Every day I'm finding out something else I don't +know how to do. I seem to have been taught a good many things there is +no special need of knowing, and very few I can make use of down here."</p> + +<p>"You didn't expect to come down here when you were learning things, +did you?" Carmencita's eyes were gravely watching the efforts being +made to thread the machine's needle. "I guess when you were a little +girl you didn't know there were things like you see down here. What +made you come here, Miss Frances? You didn't have to. What made you +come?"</p> + +<p>Into the fine fair face color crept slowly, and for a moment a sudden +frown ridged the high forehead from which the dark hair, parted and +brushed back, waved into a loose knot at the back of her head; then +she laughed, and her dark eyes looked into Carmencita's blue ones.</p> + +<p>"Why did I come?" The gingham dress on which she had been sewing was +folded carefully. "I came to find out some of the things I did not +know about. I wasn't of any particular use to anybody else. No one +needed me. I had a life on my hands that I didn't know what to do +with, and I thought perhaps—"</p> + +<p>"You could use it down here? You could use a dozen down here, but you +weren't meant not to get married. Aren't you ever going to get +married, Miss Frances?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly think I will." Frances Barbour got up and pushed the machine +against the wall. "The trouble about getting married is marrying the +right man. One so often doesn't. I wouldn't like to make a mistake." +Again she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Don't see how you could make a mistake. Isn't there some way you can +tell?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Carmencita!" Stooping, the child's face was lifted and +kissed. "I'm not a bit interested in men or marriage. They belong +to—to a long, long time ago. I'm interested now in little girls like +you, and in boys, and babies, and gingham dresses, and Christmas +trees, and night classes, and the Dramatic School for the children who +work, and—"</p> + +<p>"I'm interested in them, too, but I'm going to get married when I'm +big enough. I know you work awful hard down here, but it wasn't what +you were born for. I'm always feeling, right inside me, right +here"—Carmencita's hand was laid on her breast—"that you aren't +going to stay here long, and it makes an awful sink sometimes. You'll +go away and forget us, and get married, and go to balls and parties +and wear satin slippers with buckles on them, and dance, and I'd do +it, too, if I were you. Only—only I wish sometimes you hadn't come. +It will be so much harder when you go away."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not going away." At the little white bureau in the plainly +furnished room of Mother McNeil's "Home," Frances stuck the pins +brought from the machine into the little cushion and nodded gaily to +the child now standing by her side. "I've tried the parties and balls +and—all the other things, and for a while they were very nice; and +then one day I found I was spending all my time getting ready for them +and resting from them, and there was never time for anything else. If +I had died it would not have mattered the least bit that I had lived. +And—"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you have a sweetheart that it mattered to? Not even one?"</p> + +<p>Into hers Carmencita's eyes were looking firmly, and, turning from +them, Frances made effort to laugh; then her face whitened.</p> + +<p>"One can never be sure how much things matter to others, Carmencita. +We can only be sure of how much they matter—to us. But it was +Christmas we were to talk about. It's much nicer to talk about +Christmas. We can't talk very long, for I meet the 'Little Mothers' at +half past six, and after that I—"</p> + +<p>"And I've got to go at half past five to meet Father when he's through +with that wedding up-town, and then we're going shopping. I've got a +lot to talk about. The Beckwith babies are awful sick. I guess it +would be a good thing if they were to die. They are always having +colic and cramps and croup, and they've got a coughing mother and a +lazy father; but they won't die. Some babies never will. Did you know +Mr. Rheinhimer had been on another spree?" Carmencita, feet fastened +in the rounds of her chair, elbows on knees, and chin in the palms of +her hand, nodded affirmatively at the face in front of her. "Worst one +yet. He smashed all the window-panes in the bedroom, and broke two +legs of their best chairs doing it, and threw the basin and pitcher +out of the window. He says he'd give any man living five hundred +dollars, if he had it, if he'd live with his wife a month and not +shake her. She is awful aggravating. She's always in curl papers, and +don't wear corsets, and nags him to death. She says she wishes you'd +send him to a cure or something. And I want to tell you about Father's +present."</p> + +<p>For twenty minutes they talked long and earnestly. Carmencita's list +of names and number of pennies were gone over again and again, and +when at last she got up to go the perplexities of indecision and +adjustment were mainly removed, and she sighed with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I'm very much obliged to you for helping me fix it." The piece of +paper was carefully pinned to the inside of the coat. "I'm not going +to get anything but Father's present to-night. I won't have to go to +school to-morrow, and I want the buying to last as long as possible. +Isn't it funny the way Christmas makes you feel?"</p> + +<p>Carmencita's hands came suddenly together, and, pressing them on her +breast, her eyes grew big and shining. Standing first on one foot and +then on the other, she swayed slightly forward, then gave a leap in +the air.</p> + +<p>"I can't help it, Miss Frances, I really can't! It's something inside +me—something that makes me wish I was all the world's mother! And +I'm so squirmy and thrilly and shivery, thinking of the things I'd do +if I could, that sometimes I'm bound to jump—just bound to! I'm +almost sure something nice is going to happen. Did you ever feel that +way, Miss Frances?"</p> + +<p>"I used to feel that way." The clear dark eyes for a moment turned +from the eager ones of the child. "It's a very nice way to feel. When +one is young—though perhaps it is not so much youth as hope in the +heart, and love, and—"</p> + +<p>"I don't love everybody. I loathe Miss Cattie Burns. She's the very +old dev— I promised Father I wouldn't say even a true mean thing +about anybody for a month, and I've done it twice! I'd much rather +love people, though. I love to love! It makes you feel so nice and +warm and homey. If I had a house I'd have everybody I know—I mean all +the nice everybodies—to spend Christmas with me. Isn't it funny that +at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for—for— I don't know +what for, exactly, but it's something you don't mind so much not +having at other times."</p> + +<p>Carmencita's arms opened to their full length, then circled slowly, +and her hands crossed around her neck. "It's the time to wipe out and +forget things, Father says. It's the home-time and the heart-time +and—" In her voice was sudden anxiety. "You are not going away for +Christmas are you, Miss Frances?"</p> + +<p>"Not for Christmas eve." She hesitated. "I'm not quite sure what I'm +going to do on Christmas day. My people live in different places and +far apart. It is all very different from what it used to be. When one +is alone—"</p> + +<p>She stopped abruptly and, going over to the window, looked down on the +street below; and Carmencita, watching, saw the face turned from hers +twist in sudden pain. For a moment she stood puzzled and helpless. +Something she did not understand was troubling, something in which she +could not help. What was it?</p> + +<p>"You couldn't be alone at Christmas, Miss Frances." Slowly she came +toward the window, and shyly her hand slipped into that of her friend. +"There are too many wanting you. Father and I can't give fine presents +or have a fine dinner, but there wouldn't be words in which to tell +you how thankful we'd be if you'd spend it with us. Would you—would +you come to us, Miss Frances?"</p> + +<p>Into the eager blue eyes looking up the dark eyes looked down, and, +looking, grew misty. "Dear child, I'd come to you if I were here, but +I do not think I'll be here." Her head went up as if impatient with +herself. "I'm going away on Christmas day—going—" She took out her +watch hurriedly and looked at it. "It's after half past five, +Carmencita. You will have to hurry or you won't see the wedding guests +go in. Good-by, dear. Have a good time and tuck away all you see to +tell me later. I will be so busy between now and Christmas, there will +be no time for talking, but after Christmas—Why, you've got on your +straw hat, Carmencita! Where is the winter one Miss Cattie gave you? +She told me she had given you a perfectly good hat that would last a +long time."</p> + +<p>"She did." Carmencita's hands were stuck in the deep pockets of her +long coat, and again her big blue eyes were raised to her friend's. +"It would have lasted for ever if it hadn't got burned up. It fell in +the fire and got burned up." Out in the hall she hesitated, then came +back, opened the door, and put her head in. "It did get burned up, +Miss Frances. I burned it. Good-by."</p> + +<p>Late into the night Frances Barbour sat at her desk in the bare and +poorly furnished room which she now called hers, and wrote letters, +settled accounts, wrapped bundles, assorted packages, and made lists +of matters to be attended to on the next day. When at last through, +with the reaction that comes from overtired body and nerves she leaned +back in her chair and let her hands fall idly in her lap, and with +eyes that saw not looked across at the windows, on whose panes bits of +hail were tapping weirdly. For some minutes thought was held in +abeyance; then suddenly she crossed her arms on the table, and her +face was hidden in them.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Stephen! Stephen!" Under her breath the words came wearily. "We +were so foolish, Stephen; such silly children to give each other up! +All through the year I know, but never as I do at Christmas. And +we—we are each other's, Stephen!" With a proud uplifting of her head +she got up. "I am a child," she said, "a child who wants what it once +refused to have. But until he understood—" Quickly she put out the +light.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III" />CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 72px;"> +<img src="images/03.png" width="72" height="120" alt="H" title="" /> +</div><p>e was ashamed of himself for being ashamed. Why on earth should he +hesitate to tell Peterkin he would dine alone on Christmas day? It was +none of Peterkin's business how he dined, or where, or with whom. And +still he had not brought himself to the point of informing Peterkin, +by his order for dinner at home, that he was not leaving town for the +holidays, that he was not invited to dine with any one else, and that +there was no one he cared to invite to dine with him. It was the 22d +of December, and the custodian in charge of his domestic arrangements +had not yet been told what his plans were for the 25th. He had no +plans.</p> + +<p>He might go, of course, to one of his clubs. But worse than telling +Peterkin that he would dine alone would be the public avowal of having +nowhere to go which dining at the club would not only indicate, but +affirm. Besides, at Christmas a club was ghastly, and the few who +dropped in had a half-shamed air at being there and got out as quickly +as possible. He could go to Hallsboro, but Hallsboro no longer bore +even a semblance to the little town in which he had been born—had, +indeed, become something of a big city, bustling, busy, and new, and +offensively up-to-date; and nowhere else did he feel so much a +stranger as in the place he had once called home. He was but twelve +when his parents moved away, and eight months later died within a week +of each other, and for years he had not been back. Had there been +brothers and sisters—Well, there were no brothers and sisters, and by +this time he should be used to the fact that he was very much alone in +the world.</p> + +<p>Hands in his pockets, Stephen Van Landing leaned back in his chair and +looked across the room at a picture on the wall. He did not see the +picture; he saw, instead, certain things that were not pleasant to +see. No, he would not go to Hallsboro for Christmas.</p> + +<p>Turning off the light in his office and closing the door with +unnecessary energy, Van Landing walked down the hall to the elevator, +then turned away and toward the steps. Reaching the street, he +hesitated as to the car he should take, whether one up-town to his +club or one across to his apartment, and as he waited he watched the +hurrying crowd with eyes in which were baffled impatience and +perplexity. It was incomprehensible, the shopping craze at this season +of the year. He wished there was no such season. Save for his very +young childhood there were few happy memories connected with it, but +only of late, only during the past few years, had the recurrence +awakened within him a sort of horror, its approach a sense of +loneliness that was demoralizing, and its celebration an emptiness in +life that chilled and depressed beyond all reason. Why was it that as +it drew near a feeling of cowardice so possessed him that he wanted to +go away, go anywhere and hide until it was over, go where he could not +see what it meant to others? It was humanity's home-time, and he had +no home. Why—</p> + +<p>"An ass that brays is wiser than the man who asks what can't be +answered," he said, under his breath. "For the love of Heaven, quit +it! Why-ing in a man is as inexcusable as whining in a woman. There's +my car—crowded, of course!"</p> + +<p>For some minutes longer he waited for a car on which there was chance +to get a foothold, then, buttoning his overcoat, put his hands in his +pockets and began the walk to his club. The season had been mild so +far, but a change was coming, and the two days left for Christmas +shopping would doubtless be stormy ones. On the whole, it might be +fortunate. There was a good deal of nonsense in this curious custom of +once a year getting on a giving jag, which was about what Christmas +had degenerated into, and if something could prevent the dementia that +possessed many people at this season it should be welcomed. It had +often puzzled him, the behavior of the human family at this so-called +Christian holiday in which tired people were overworked, poor people +bought what they couldn't afford, and the rich gave unneeded things to +the rich and were given unwanted ones in return. The hands of all +people—all places—had become outstretched. It wasn't the giving of +money that mattered. But what did matter was the hugeness of the habit +which was commercializing a custom whose origin was very far removed +from the spirit of the day.</p> + +<p>With a shrug of his shoulders he shoved his hands deeper down into +his pockets. "Quit again," he said, half aloud. "What do you know of +the spirit of the day?"</p> + +<p>Not only of the spirit of the day did he know little, but of late with +acute conviction it was dawning on him that he knew little of many +other things. Certainly he was getting little out of life. For a +while, after professional recognition had come to him, and with it +financial reward, he had tested society, only to give it up and settle +down to still harder work during the day and his books when the day +was done. The only woman he had ever wanted to marry had refused to +marry him. His teeth came down on his lips. He still wanted her. In +all the world there was but one woman he loved or could love, and for +three years he had not seen her. It was his fault. He was to blame. It +had taken him long to see it, but he saw it now. There had been a +difference of opinion, a frank revealing of opposing points of view, +and he had been told that she would not surrender her life to the +selfishness that takes no part in activities beyond the interests of +her own home. He had insisted that when a woman marries said home and +husband should alone claim her time and heart, and in the multitude +of demands which go into the cultural and practical development of a +home out of a house there would be sufficient opportunity for the +exercise of a woman's brain and ability. He had been such a fool. What +right had he to limit her, or she him? It had all been so silly and +such a waste, such a horrible waste of happiness.</p> + +<p>For she had loved him. She was not a woman to love lightly, as he was +not a man, and hers was the love that glorifies life. And he had lost +it. That is, he had lost her. Three years ago she had broken their +engagement. Two years of this time had been spent abroad. A few months +after their return her mother died and her home was given up. Much of +the time since her mother's death had been spent with her married +sisters, who lived in cities far separated from one another, but not +for some weeks had he heard anything concerning her. He did not even +know where she was, or where she would be Christmas.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Van!"</p> + +<p>The voice behind made him turn. The voice was Bleeker McVeigh's.</p> + +<p>"Where are the wedding garments? Don't mean you're not going!"</p> + +<p>"Going where?" Van Landing fell into step. "Whose wedding?"</p> + +<p>McVeigh lighted a fresh cigarette. "You ought to be hung. I tell you +now you won't be bidden to my wedding. Why did you tell Jockie you'd +come, if you didn't intend to?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing stopped and for a minute stared at the man beside him. "I +forgot this was the twenty-second," he said. "Tell Jock I'm dead. I +wish I were for a week."</p> + +<p>"Ought to be dead." McVeigh threw his match away. "A man who ignores +his fellow-beings as you've ignored yours of late has no right to +live. Better look out. Don't take long to be forgotten. Good night."</p> + +<p>It was true that it didn't take long to be forgotten. He had been +finding that out rather dismally of late, finding out also that a good +many things Frances had told him about himself were true. Her eyes +could be so soft and lovely and appealing; they were wonderful eyes, +but they could blaze as well. And she was right. He was selfish and +conventional and intolerant. That is, he had been. He wished he could +forget her eyes. In all ways possible to a man of his type he had +tried to forget, but forgetting was beyond his power. Jock had loved +half a dozen women and this afternoon he was to be married to his last +love. Were he on Jock's order he might have married. He wasn't on +Jock's order.</p> + +<p>Reaching his club, he started to go up the steps, then turned and +walked away. To go in would provoke inquiry as to why he was not at +the wedding. He took out his watch. It was twenty minutes of the hour +set for the ceremony. He had intended to go, but—Well, he had +forgotten, and was glad of it. He loathed weddings.</p> + +<p>As he reached the building in which was his apartment he again +hesitated and again walked on. An unaccountable impulse led him in the +direction of the house, a few blocks away, in which his friend was to +be married, and as he neared it he crossed the street and in the +darkness of the late afternoon looked with eyes, half mocking, half +amazed, at the long line of limousines which stretched from one end of +the block to the other. At the corner he stopped. For some minutes he +stood looking at the little group of people who made effort to press +closer to the entrance of the awning which stretched from door to +curbing, then turned to go, when he felt a hand touch him lightly on +the arm.</p> + +<p>"If you will come up to the top of the steps you can see much better," +he heard a voice say. "I've seen almost everybody go in. I just ran +down to tell you."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV" />CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 75px;"> +<img src="images/04.png" width="75" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><p>urning, Van Landing looked into the little face upraised to his, then +lifted his hat. She was so enveloped in the big coat which came to her +heels that for half a moment he could not tell whether she was ten or +twenty. Then he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said. "I don't know that I care to see. I don't know +why I stopped."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it is perfectly grand, seeing them is! You can see everything +up there"—a little bare hand was waved behind her in the direction of +the porch—"and nothing down here. And you looked like you wanted to +see. There have been kings and queens, and princes and princesses, and +dukes and duchesses, and sirs, and—" She looked up. "What's the lady +name for sir? 'Tisn't siress, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I believe not." Van Landing laughed. "I didn't know there was so much +royalty in town." "There is. They are royals—that kind of people." +Her hand pointed in the direction of the house from which could be +heard faint strains of music. "They live in palaces, and wave wands, +and eat out of gold plates, and wear silk stockings in the morning, +and—oh, they do everything that's splendid and grand and magnificent +and—"</p> + +<p>"Do you think people are splendid and grand and magnificent because +they live in palaces and wear—"</p> + +<p>"Goodness gracious!" The big blue eyes surveyed the speaker with +uncertainty. "Are you one of them, too?"</p> + +<p>"One what?"</p> + +<p>"Damanarkists. Mr. Leimberg is one. He hates people who live in +palaces and wave wands and have <i>dee</i>-licious things to eat. He don't +believe in it. Mr. Ripple says it's because he's a damanarkist and +very dangerous. Mr. Leimberg thinks men like Mr. Ripple ought to be +tarred and feathered. He says he'd take the very last cent a person +had and give it to blood-suckers like that"—and again the red little +hand was waved toward the opposite side of the street. "Mr. Ripple +collects our rent. I guess it does take a lot of money to live in a +palace, but I'd live in one if I could, though I'd try not to be very +particular about rents and things. And I'd have chicken-pie for dinner +every day and hot oysters for supper every night; and I'd ask some +little girls sometimes to come and see me—that is, I think I would. +But maybe I wouldn't. It's right easy to forget in a palace, I guess. +Oh, look—there's somebody else going in! Hurry, mister, or you won't +see!"</p> + +<p>Following the child up the flight of stone steps, Van Landing stood at +the top and looked across at the arriving cars, whose occupants were +immediately lost to sight in the tunnel, as his new acquaintance +called it, and then he looked at her.</p> + +<p>Very blue and big and wonder-filled were her eyes, and, tense in the +effort to gain the last glimpse of the gorgeously gowned guests, she +stood on tiptoe, leaning forward eagerly, and suddenly Van Landing +picked her up and put her on top of the railing. Holding on to his +coat, the child laughed gaily.</p> + +<p>"Aren't we having a good time?" Her breath was drawn in joyously. +"It's almost as good as being inside. Wouldn't you like to be? I +would. I guess the bride is beautiful, with real diamonds on her +slippers and in her hair, and—" She looked down on Van Landing. "My +father is in there. He goes to 'most all the scrimptious weddings that +have harps to them. He plays on the harp when the minister is saying +the words. Do you think it is going to be a very long wedding?"</p> + +<p>A note of anxiety in the child's voice made Van Landing look at her +more closely, and as she raised her eyes to his something stirred +within him curiously. What an old little face it was! All glow and +eagerness, but much too thin and not half enough color, and the hat +over the loose brown curls was straw.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it will be long." His voice was cheerfully decisive. +"That kind is usually soon over. Most of a wedding's time is taken in +getting ready for it. Did you say your father was over there?"</p> + +<p>The child's head nodded. "They have a harp, so I know they are nice +people. Father can't give lessons any more, because he can't see but +just a teensy, weensy bit when the sun is shining. He used to play on +a big organ, and we used to have oysters almost any time, but that was +before Mother died. Father was awful sick after she died, and there +wasn't any money, and when he got well he was almost blind, and he +can't teach any more, and 'most all he does now is weddings and +funerals. I love him to go to weddings. He makes the others tell him +everything they see, and then he tells me, and we have the grandest +time making out we were sure enough invited, and talking of what we +thought was the best thing to eat, and whose dress was the prettiest, +and which lady was the loveliest—Oh, my goodness! Look there!"</p> + +<p>Already some of the guests were departing; and Van Landing, looking at +his watch, saw it was twenty minutes past six. Obviously among those +present were some who failed to feel the enthusiasm for weddings that +his new friend felt. With a smile he put the watch away, and, placing +the child's feet more firmly on the railing, held her so that she +could rest against his shoulder. She could hardly be more than twelve +or thirteen, and undersized for that, but the oval face was one of +singular intelligence, and her eyes—her eyes were strangely like the +only eyes on earth he had ever loved, and as she settled herself more +comfortably his heart warmed curiously, warmed as it had not done for +years. Presently she looked down at him.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you're a damanarkist." Her voice was joyous. "You're +so nice. Can you see good?"</p> + +<p>"Very good. There isn't much to see. One might if it weren't for +that—"</p> + +<p>"Old tunnel! I don't think they ought to have them if it isn't snowing +or raining. Oh, I do hope Father can come out soon! If I tell you +something will you promise not to tell, not even say it to yourself +out loud?" Her face was raised to his. "I'm going to get Father's +Christmas present to-night. We're going down-town when he is through +over there. He can't see me buy it, and it's something he wants +dreadfully. I've been saving ever since last Christmas. It's going to +cost two dollars and seventy-five cents." The eager voice trailed off +into an awed whisper. "That's an awful lot to spend on something +you're not bound to have, but Christmas isn't like any other time. I +spend millions in my mind at Christmas. Have you bought all your +things, Mr.—Mr.—don't even know your name." She laughed. "What's +your name, Mr. Man?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing hesitated. Caution and reserve were inherent +characteristics. Before the child's eyes they faded.</p> + +<p>"Van Landing," he said. "Stephen Van Landing."</p> + +<p>"Mine is Carmencita. Father named me that because when I was a teensy +baby I kicked my feet so, and loved my tambourine best of all my +things. Have you bought all your Christmas gifts, Mr. Van—I don't +remember the other part."</p> + +<p>"I haven't any to buy—and no one to buy for. That is—"</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" The child turned quickly; in her eyes and voice +incredulity was unrestrained. "I didn't know there was anybody in all +the world who didn't have anybody to buy for! Are you—are you very +poor, Mr. Van? You look very nice."</p> + +<p>"I think I must be very poor." Van Landing fastened his glasses more +securely on his nose. "I'm quite sure of it. It has been long since I +cared to buy Christmas presents. I give a few, of course, but—"</p> + +<p>"And don't you have Christmas dinner at home, and hang up your +stocking, and buy toys and things for children, and hear the music in +the churches? I know a lot of carols. Father taught me. I'll sing one +for you. Want me? Oh, I believe they are coming out! Father said they +wouldn't want him as long as the others. If I lived in a palace and +was a royal lady I'd have a harp longer than anything else, but Father +says it's on account of the food. Food is awful high, and people would +rather eat than hear harps. Oh, there's Father! I must go, Mr. Van. +Thank you ever so much for holding me."</p> + +<p>With a movement that was scientific in its dexterity the child slipped +from Van Landing's arms and jumped from the railing to the porch, and +without so much as a turn of the head ran down the steps and across +the street. Darting in between two large motor-cars, Van Landing saw +her run forward and take the hand of a man who was standing near the +side-entrance of the house in which the wedding had taken place. It +was too dark to distinguish his face, and in the confusion following +the calling of numbers and the hurrying off of guests he felt +instinctively that the man shrank back, as is the way of the blind, +and an impulse to go over and lead him away made him start down the +steps.</p> + +<p>At the foot he stopped. To go over was impossible. He would be +recognized. For half a moment he hesitated. It was his dinner hour, +and he should go home; but he didn't want to go home. The stillness +and orderliness of his handsome apartment was suddenly irritating. It +seemed a piece of mechanism made to go so smoothly and noiselessly +that every element of humanness was lacking in it; and with something +of a shiver he turned down the street and in the direction opposite to +that wherein he lived. The child's eyes had stirred memories that must +be kept down; and she was right. He was a poor man. He had a house, +but no home, and he had no Christmas presents to buy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V" />CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 72px;"> +<img src="images/05.png" width="72" height="120" alt="M" title="" /> +</div><p>r. Van! Mr. Van!"</p> + +<p>He turned quickly. Behind, his new-made acquaintance was making effort +to run, but to run and still hold the hand of her father was +difficult. With a smile he stopped.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Van!" The words came breathlessly. "I was so afraid we would +lose you! Father can't cross quick, and once I couldn't see you. Here +he is, Father." She took Van Landing's hand and laid it in her +father's. "He can tell by hands," she said, "whether you're a nice +person or not. I told him you didn't have anybody, and—"</p> + +<p>Van Landing's hand for a moment lay in the stranger's, then he shook +the latter's warmly and again raised his hat. In the circle of light +caused by the electric lamp near which they stood the blind man's face +could be seen distinctly, and in it was that one sees but rarely in +the faces of men, and in Van Landing's throat came sudden tightening.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, I cannot make her understand, cannot keep her from talking +to strangers!" The troubled voice was of a strange quality for so +shabbily clothed a body, and in the eyes that saw not, and which were +lifted to Van Landing's, was sudden terror. "She believes all people +to be her friends. I cannot always be with her, and some day—"</p> + +<p>"But, Father, you said that whoever didn't have any friends must be +our friend, because—because that's all we can be—just friends. And +he hasn't any. I mean anybody to make Christmas for. He said so +himself. And can't he go with us to-night and see the shops? I know +he's nice, Father. Please, please let him!"</p> + +<p>The look of terrified helplessness which for a moment swept over the +gentle face, wherein suffering and sorrow had made deep impress, but +in which was neither bitterness nor complaint, stirred the heart +within him as not for long it had been stirred, and quickly Van +Landing spoke.</p> + +<p>"It may not be a good plan generally, but this time it was all right," +he said. "She spoke to me because she thought I could not see what +was going on across the street, and very kindly shared her better +position with me. I—" He hesitated. His name would mean nothing to +the man before him. Their worlds were very different worlds. It was +possible, however, that this gentle, shrinking creature, with a face +so spiritualized by life's denials that it shamed him as he looked, +knew more of his, Van Landing's, world than he of the blind man's, and +suddenly, as if something outside himself directed, he yielded to a +strange impulse.</p> + +<p>It was true, what the child had said. He had few friends—that is, +friends in the sense the child meant. Of acquaintances he had many, +very many. At his club, in business, in a rather limited social set, +he knew a number of people well, but friends—If he were to die +to-morrow his going would occasion but the usual comment he had often +heard concerning others. Some years ago he had found himself +continually entertaining what he called his friends, spending foolish +sums of money on costly dinners, and quite suddenly he had quit. As +long as he entertained he was entertained in return, and for some time +after he stopped he still received invitations of many sorts, but in +cynical realization of the unsatisfactoriness of his manner of life +he had given it up, and in its place had come nothing to answer the +hunger of his heart for comradeship and human cheer. His opinion of +life had become unhealthy. As an experience for which one is not +primarily responsible it had to be endured, but out of it he had +gotten little save what men called success; and that, he had long +since found, though sweet in the pursuit, was bitter in achievement if +there was no one who cared—and for his nobody really cared. This +blind man with the shabby clothes and ill-nourished body was richer +than he. He had a child who loved him and whom he loved.</p> + +<p>"It is true what your little girl has told you." Van Landing took off +his glasses and wiped them. "I have no one to make Christmas for, and +if you don't mind I wish you would let me go with you to the shops +to-night. I don't know much about Christmas buying. My presents are +chiefly given in mon—— I mean I don't know any little children."</p> + +<p>"And I know forty billion!" Carmencita's arms were outstretched and +her hands came together with ecstatic emphasis. "If I didn't stop to +blink my eyes between now and Christmas morning I couldn't buy fast +enough to fill all the stockings of the legs I know if I had the money +to buy with. There's Mrs. McTarrens's four, and the six Blickers, and +the ashman's eight, and the Roysters, and little Sallie Simcoe, and +old Mr. Jenkinson, and Miss Becky who mends pants and hasn't any front +teeth, and Mr. Leimberg. I'd get him specs. He has to hold his book +like this"—and the palms of two little red hands were held close to +Carmencita's eyes. "Oh, Father, please let him go!"</p> + +<p>Hesitating, the blind man's eyes were again upturned, and again Van +Landing spoke.</p> + +<p>"You are right to be careful; but you need not fear. My name is Van +Landing, and my office—"</p> + +<p>"You are a gentleman!" Two hands with their long slender fingers were +outstretched, and swiftly they stroked Van Landing's arms and body and +face. "Your voice, your hands, tell me your class, and your clothes +that you have money. Why—oh, why do you want to go with us?" Quickly +his right hand drew his child toward him, and in terror he pressed her +to his side. "She is my all, my light, my life! Away from her I am in +darkness you could not understand. No, you must not go with us. You +must go away and leave us!"</p> + +<p>For a moment Van Landing hesitated, puzzled by the sudden fear in the +man's face, then over his own crept grayness, and the muscles in it +stiffened.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he said, and his mouth grew dry. "Have men brought men to +this?"</p> + +<p>For another half-moment there was silence which the child, looking +from one to the other, could not understand, and her hands, pressed +close to her breast, gripped tightly her cold fingers. Presently Van +Landing turned.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said. "I will go. It was just that I know little of a +real Christmas. Good night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't go—don't go, Mr. Van! It's going to be Christmas two days +after to-morrow, Father, and the Christ-child wouldn't like it if you +let him go!" Carmencita held the sleeve of Van Landing's coat with a +sturdy clutch. "He isn't a damanarkist. I can tell by his eyes. They +are so lonely-looking. You aren't telling a story, are you Mr. Van? Is +it truly truth that you haven't anybody?"</p> + +<p>"It is truly truth," he said. "I mean anybody to make Christmas for."</p> + +<p>"No mother or father or a little girl like me? Haven't you even got a +wife?"</p> + +<p>"Not even a wife." Van Landing smiled.</p> + +<p>"You are as bad as Miss Barbour. She hasn't anybody, either, now, she +says, 'most everybody being—"</p> + +<p>"Miss who?" Van Landing turned so sharply that the child jumped. "Who +did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Barbour." The eyes which were so like those he could not forget +were raised to his. "If you knew Miss Barbour she could tell you of +plenty of people to make Christmas for. She's living right now with +Mother McNeil, who isn't really anybody's mother, but just +everybody's. But she don't live there all the time. Most of her people +are dead or married and don't need her, so she came to Mother McNeil +to see how children down there live. What's the matter, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>To hide the upleaping flame in his face and the sudden trembling of +his hands Van Landing stooped down and picked up the handkerchief he +had dropped; then he stepped back and out of the circle of light in +which he had been standing. For a moment he did not speak lest his +voice be as unsteady as his hands, but, taking out his watch, he +looked at it, then put it back with fumbling fingers.</p> + +<p>"Her first name—Miss Barbour's first name," he said, and the dryness +of his throat made his words a little indistinct. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>With mouth rounded into a little ball, Carmencita blew on her stiff +finger-tips. "Frances," she said, and first one foot and then the +other was stamped for purpose of warmth. "The damanarkist says God +made her, but the devil has more to do with most women than anybody +else. He don't like women. Do you know her, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>"If your friend is my friend—I know her very well," he said, and put +his hands in his pockets to hide the twitching of his fingers. "A long +time ago she was the only real friend I had, and I lost her. I have +wanted very much to find her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Father, if he knows Miss Barbour he's bound to be all right!" +Carmencita's arms were flung above her head and down again, and on her +tiptoes she danced gaily round and round. "We can show him where she +lives." She stopped. "No, we can't. She told me I must never do that. +I mustn't send any one to her, but I could tell her of anybody I +wanted her to know about." Head uplifted, her eyes searched Van +Landing's, and her words came in an awed whisper, "Was—was she your +sweetheart, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>"She was." Again Van Landing wiped his forehead. It didn't in the +least matter that he was telling to this unknown child the most +personal of matters. Nothing mattered but that perhaps he might find +Frances. "You must take me to her," he said. "I must see her +to-night."</p> + +<p>"I can't take you to see her to-night. She wouldn't like it. Oh, I +know!" Carmencita made another rapid whirl. "We can go down-town and +get"—she nodded confidentially to her new-made friend and pointed her +finger in her father's direction—"and then we can come back and have +some toast and tea; and then I'll send for Miss Barbour to come quick, +as I need her awful, and when she comes in you can say: 'Oh, my lost +and loved one, here I am! We will be married right away, this minute!' +I read that in a book once. Won't it be grand? But you won't—" The +dancing ceased, and her hands stiffened in sudden anxiety. "You won't +take her away, will you?"</p> + +<p>"If she will come with me I will not take her where she won't come +back. Can't we start?"</p> + +<p>But the child was obdurate. She would do nothing until her purchase +was made, and to her entreaties her father finally yielded, and a few +minutes later Van Landing and his new acquaintances were on a +down-town car, bound for a shopping district as unknown to him as the +shops in which he was accustomed to deal were unknown to them.</p> + +<p>Still a bit dazed by his chance discovery, he made no comment on the +child's continual chatter, but let her exuberance and delight have +full play while he tried to adjust himself to a realization that made +all thought but a chaotic mixture of hope and doubt, of turbulent fear +and determined purpose, and of one thing only was he sure. Three years +of his life had been wasted. Another hour should not be lost were it +in his power to prevent.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI" />CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 74px;"> +<img src="images/06.png" width="74" height="120" alt="W" title="" /> +</div><p>hen the store was reached Van Landing for the first time was able to +see distinctly the faces of Carmencita and her father, and as for a +moment he watched the slim little body in its long coat, once the +property, undoubtedly, of a much bigger person, saw her eager, +wonder-filled eyes, and the wistful mouth which had learned to smile +at surrender, the strings of his heart twisted in protest, and for the +"damanarkist" of whom she had spoken, for the moment he had sympathy +of which on yesterday there would have been no understanding. She +could not be more than twelve or thirteen, he thought, but condition +and circumstance had made her a woman in many matters, and the art of +shopping she knew well. Slowly, very slowly, she made her way to the +particular counter at which her precious purchase was to be made, +lingering here and there to gaze at things as much beyond her hope of +possession as the stars of heaven; and, following her slow-walking, +Van Landing could see her eyes brighten and yearn, her lips move, her +hand outstretch to touch and then draw back quickly, and also every +now and then he could see her shake her head.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you do that? Is there anything in here +you would like to get, besides the thing you came for?"</p> + +<p>"Anything I'd like to get!" The words were repeated as if not heard +aright. "Anybody would know you'd never been a girl. There isn't much +in here I wouldn't like to get if I didn't have to pay for it."</p> + +<p>"But not rattles and dolls and drums and pop-guns and boxing-gloves +and all the other things you've looked at. Girls of your age—"</p> + +<p>"This girl wasn't looking at them for herself. I'm 'most grown up now. +But everybody on our street has got a baby, and a lot of children +besides. Mrs. Perry has twins and a baby, and Mrs. Latimer always has +two on a bottle at the same time. I'm just buying things in my mind. +It's the only way I can buy 'em, and Christmas wouldn't be Christmas +if you couldn't buy some way. Sallie Simcoe will go crazy if she don't +get a doll that whistles. She saw one in a window once. It was a +Whistling Jim and cost a dollar. She won't get it. Oh, here it is, Mr. +Van! Here's the counter where the jewelry things are."</p> + +<p>As she neared it she nodded to Van Landing and pointed to her father, +who, hand on her shoulder, had kept close to her, then beckoned him to +come nearer. "He can't see, I know"—her voice was excited—"but take +him away, won't you? I wouldn't have him guess it, not for <i>anything</i> +on earth! I'll be through in a minute."</p> + +<p>In moments incredibly few, but to Van Landing tormentingly long, she +was back again, and close to her heart she was hugging a tiny package +with one hand, while the other was laid on her father's arm. "I got +it," she whispered; "it's perfectly beautiful." She spoke louder. "I +guess we'd better be going now. I know you're hungry, and so am I. +Come on. We can walk home, and then I'll make the tea."</p> + +<p>For a second Van Landing hesitated, then he followed the odd-looking +couple out into the street, but as they started to turn the corner he +stopped.</p> + +<p>"I say"—he cleared his throat to hide its embarrassed +hesitation—"don't you want to do me a favor? Where I live I don't +buy the things I eat, and I've often thought I'd like to. If you are +going to make the tea and toast, why can't I get the—the chicken, +say, and some salad and things? That's a good-looking window over +there with cooked stuff in it. We'll have a party and each put in +something."</p> + +<p>"Chicken?" Into his face the child gazed with pitying comprehension of +his ignorance, and in her voice was shrill amusement. "<i>Chicken!</i> Did +you ever price one? I have, when I'm having kings and queens taking +dinner with me in my mind. People don't have chicken 'cept at +Christmas, and sometimes Sundays if there hasn't been anybody out of +work for a long time. Come on. I've got a box of sardines. Just think, +Father, he wants to buy a <i>chicken</i>!"</p> + +<p>With a gay little laugh in which was shrewd knowledge of the +unthinkableness of certain indulgences, the child slipped one arm +through her father's and another through Van Landing's, and with a +happy skip led the way down the poorly lighted street. A solid mass of +dreary-looking houses, with fronts unrelieved by a distinguishing +feature, stretched as far as the eye could see, and when a few blocks +had been walked it was with a sense of relief that a corner was +turned and Van Landing found himself at the foot of a flight of steps +up which the child bounded and beckoned him to follow.</p> + +<p>The house was like the others, one of a long row, and dull and dark +and dingy, but from its basement came a baby's wailing, while from the +floor above, as the hall was entered, could be heard the rapid click +of a sewing-machine. Four flights of steps were mounted; then +Carmencita took the key from her father's pocket and opened the door.</p> + +<p>"This is our suite," she said, and courtesied low. "Please strike a +match, if you have one, Mr. Van. This house is very old, and history +houses don't have electric lights. The ghosts wouldn't like it. Some +of my best friends are ghosts. I'll be back in a minute."</p> + +<p>As she ran into the little hall room adjoining the large room which he +saw comprised their "suite," Van Landing lighted the lamp near the +mantel and looked around. In the center was a marble-topped table, and +on it a lamp, a work-basket, and several magazines with backs half +gone. The floor was bare save for a small and worn rug here and there, +and on the sills of the uncurtained windows two hardy geraniums were +blooming bravely. A chest of drawers, a few chairs, a shelf of books, +a rug-covered cot, a corner cupboard, a wash-stand behind a screen, +and a small table near the stove, behind which a box of wood could be +seen, completed its furnishings; and still, despite its bareness, +there was something in it which was not in the place wherein he lived, +and wonderingly he again looked around. Had he found himself in the +moon or at the bottom of the Dead Sea it would be hardly less +remarkable than finding himself here. Adventures of this sort were +entirely out of his experience. As regulated as a piece of machinery +his life had become of late, and the routine of office and club and +house had been accepted as beyond escape, and the chance meeting of +this little creature—</p> + +<p>"Oh, my goodness! I forgot to put the kettle on!"</p> + +<p>With a spring that came apparently from the door opposite the stove +near which he was standing Carmencita was by his side, and, swift +movement following swift movement, the lid of the stove was lifted, +wood put in, the kettle of water put on, and the table drawn farther +out in the floor. A moment more the lamp was lighted, her father's +coat and hat in place, his chair drawn up to the now roaring fire; +then, with speculation in her eyes, she stood for half a moment, hands +on hips, looking first at Van Landing and then at the cupboard in the +corner.</p> + +<p>For the first time he saw well the slender little body out of its +long, loose coat, the heavy, brown curls which tumbled over the oval +face, the clear eyes that little escaped, so keen was their quality, +and the thin legs with their small feet in large shoes, and as he +looked he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Well," he asked, "can I help you? You seem very uncertain."</p> + +<p>"I am. Put your hat and coat over there"—she pointed to the covered +cot close to the wall—"then come back and tell me."</p> + +<p>He did as directed and, hands in pockets, stood again in front of her. +"Is"—his face whitened—"is it about Miss Barbour? Can you send her +word?"</p> + +<p>"Send now? I guess not!" On tiptoes the child looked for something on +the mantel-piece. "We haven't had supper yet, and I'm so hungry I +could eat air. Besides, she has a class to-night—The Little Big +Sisters. I'm one when I can go, but I can't go often." She waved her +hand in the direction of her father. "I'll send for her 'bout half +past nine. Which do you like best, sardines with lemon on 'em, or +toasted cheese on toast with syrup afterward? Which?"</p> + +<p>The tone was one of momentous inquiry. Miss Barbour's coming was a +matter that could wait, but supper necessitated a solemn decision +which must be made at once. Hands clasped behind her, the blue eyes +grew big with suspense, and again she repeated, "Which?"</p> + +<p>"I really don't know. Both are very good. I believe I like sardines +better than—Oh no, I don't." He had caught the flicker of +disappointment in the anxious little face. "I mean I think toasted +cheese the best thing to eat that's going. Let's have that!"</p> + +<p>"All right." With another spring the child was at the cupboard, and +swiftly she went to work. "Read to father, won't you?" she called, +without looking round. "In that magazine with the geranium leaf +sticking out is where I left off. You'll have to read right loud."</p> + +<p>Drawing his chair close to the lighted lamp, Van Landing took his seat +near the blind musician, and for the first time noticed the slender, +finely formed fingers of the hands now resting on the arms of the +chair in which he sat; noticed the shiny, well-worn coat and the lock +of white hair that fell across the high forehead; saw the sensitive +mouth; and as he looked he wondered as to the story that was his. An +old one, perhaps. Born of better blood than his present position +implied, he had evidently found the battle of life more than he was +equal to, and, unfit to fight, he had doubtless slipped down and down +in the scale of human society until to-day he and his child were +dwellers on the borderland of the slums.</p> + +<p>He found the article and began to read. The technicalities of musical +composition had never appealed to him, but, though by him the writer's +exhaustive knowledge of his subject was not appreciated, by his +listener it was greatly so, and, in tense eagerness to miss no word, +the latter leaned forward and kept his sightless eyes in the direction +of the sound of his voice.</p> + +<p>Not for long could he read, however. In a few moments Carmencita's +hands were outstretched, and, giving one to each, she led them to the +table, and at it he sat down as naturally as though it were a familiar +occurrence. In the center was a glass jar with a spray of red geranium +in it, and behind the earthen tea-pot the child presided with the +ease of long usage. As she gave him his tea he noticed it was in the +only unchipped cup, and on the one kept for herself there was no +handle. Under his breath he swore softly. Why—He mentally shook +himself. This was no time for why-ing.</p> + +<p>[Illustration: "WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR +TOASTED CHEESE ON TOAST?"]</p> + +<p>As an appetizer the toasted cheese on toasted bread was excellent, but +the supper—if she had only let him get it. He had not dared insist, +and never had he been more consciously a guest, but could people live +on fare so scant as this? It was like Frances to want to know how +other people lived—and not to be content with knowing. But after she +knew how could she sleep at night? Great God! If there was to be a day +of judgment what could men say—men like himself and his friends?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII" />CHAPTER VII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/07.png" width="73" height="120" alt="F" title="" /> +</div><p>or half an hour longer Carmencita chatted gaily, offering dish after +dish of imaginary food with the assurance that it would cause no +sickness or discomfort, and at the child's spirit and imagination Van +Landing marveled. The years of ignorance and indifference, in which he +had not cared to know what Frances knew all men should know, came back +disquietingly, and he wondered if for him it were too late.</p> + +<p>As Carmencita got up to clear the table he took out his watch and +looked at it, then put it quickly back lest she should see. Who was +going to take the note? Why couldn't he go to the place at which was +held the class of Little Big Sisters and get Frances? With a quick +indrawing breath he handed his host cigars.</p> + +<p>"I hope you smoke," he said; "that is, if Carmencita does not object."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't object. Smoke!" Carmencita's hand was waved. "After I +wash the dishes I'll write the note, then I'll go down and get Noodles +to take it. I'll ask Mr. Robinsky to bring the harp up, Father. He +brought it home for us; he's a flute-er." The explanation was made to +Van Landing. "He always brings it home when Father and I are going +somewhere else. Smoke, please. I love to smell smoke smell."</p> + +<p>With a splash the remaining water in the tea-kettle was poured in the +dish-pan, and for a few moments the clatter of knives and forks and +spoons prevented talk. Over the blind man's face crept the content +that comes from a good cigar, and in silence he and his guest smoked +while Carmencita did her work. Not long was there silence, however, +for very shortly the child was on a stool at Van Landing's feet, in +her hands a pad of paper, and on her knee a backless magazine.</p> + +<p>For half a minute she looked in Van Landing's face. "Isn't it nice and +funny—your being here? I like you." Her voice was joyous. "If I tell +you something, you won't tell?" She leaned forward, hands on his +knees. "This afternoon before I went out I asked God please to let +something nice happen. There hasn't anything very nice happened for so +long, I was afraid He had forgot. What must I write, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>Into Van Landing's face the color surged, then died away and left it +strangely white. The child's eyes were holding his, and he did not try +to avoid them. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was to +get Frances quickly.</p> + +<p>"Tell her I must see her to-night, that I must come to her. Why can't +I go to her, Carmencita?"</p> + +<p>"Because she doesn't want anybody to come to see her that she doesn't +tell to come. She told me so herself, and I wouldn't break her rules +for a gold ring with a ruby in it. I know. I'll tell her I'm bound to +show her something to-night or I won't sleep a wink. And you'll be +<i>It</i>! You can go in Father's room, and when she comes in you will come +out and say—What will you say, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Perhaps I sha'n't say anything. Sometimes one can't."</p> + +<p>"I'll look in that book I read once and see what he said, if you want +me to. It was a beautiful book. It had an awful lot of love in it. I +know what I'm going to write."</p> + +<p>For some moments she wrote laboriously on the pad, which wabbled +badly on her knees, then she folded the piece of paper and, getting +up, went toward the door. Van Landing followed her.</p> + +<p>"The boy," he said. "Will you give him this and tell him if the note +is delivered to Miss Barbour personally there will be more when he +comes back?" He held out his hand.</p> + +<p>As if not seeing aright, Carmencita looked closely at what was held +toward her, then up in Van Landing's face. "You must have plenty of +money, if you haven't any friends," she said, and in her voice was +faint suspicion. "Noodles can't have that. He'd never go anywhere for +me again if he got that much." Her hand waved his away. "When he comes +back, if you'll give him a quarter he'll stand on his head. It's hard +and hollow, and he makes right smart standing on it and wriggling his +feet." She shook her head. "It would ruin him to give him a dollar. +Please read to Father."</p> + +<p>Her visitor's face flushed. Why couldn't he remember? "Very well," he +said; "manage it your way. Tell him to hurry, will you?'"</p> + +<p>Would she come? With his lips Stephen Van Landing was pronouncing the +words of the article he had again begun to read to the blind harpist, +but in his heart, which was beating thickly, other words were surging, +and every now and then he wiped his forehead lest its dampness be seen +by the child's keen eyes. Would she come? Three years had passed since +senseless selfishness on his part had made her spirit flare and she +had given him back his ring. For a moment he had held it, and in the +dancing flames of the logs upon the hearth in the library of her +beautiful old-fashioned home its stones had gleamed brilliantly, +flashed protesting fire; then he had dropped it in the blaze and +turned and left the room. Had she forgotten, or had she suffered, too?</p> + +<p>With mechanical monotony the words continued to come from his lips, +but his thoughts were afar off, and presently Carmencita took the +magazine out of his hand.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," she said, "but Father is asleep, and you don't know a +word you're saying. You might as well stop."</p> + +<p>Putting the magazine on the table, Carmencita drew the stool on which +she was sitting closer to Van Landing's chair, and, hands clasped +around her knees, looked up into his eyes. In hers was puzzled +questioning.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon." His face flushed under the grave scrutiny bent +upon him. "I was reading abominably, but I couldn't get my mind—"</p> + +<p>"I know," Carmencita nodded understandingly. "I do that way sometimes +when I'm saying one thing and thinking another, and Father always +takes a little nap until I get out of the clouds. He says I spend a +lot of my time in the clouds. I'm bound to soar sometimes. If I didn't +make out I wasn't really and truly living here, on the top floor, with +the Rheinhimers underneath, but just waiting for our house to be fixed +up, I couldn't stand it all the time. I'd go—"</p> + +<p>She hesitated, then again went on. "You see, it's this way. There 're +a lot of things I hate, but I've got to stand them, and the only way I +can do it is to get away from them in my mind sometimes. Father says +it's the way we stand things that proves the kind of person we are; +but Father is Father, and I am me, and letting out is a great relief. +Did you ever feel as if you're bound to say things sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I've not only felt I had to say them, but I said them." +Van Landing looked at his watch. "Your Father is doubtless right, +but—"</p> + +<p>"Noodles hasn't had time to get back yet, and she might not be +there." Carmencita glanced toward the clock. "And Father is always +right. He's had to sit so many hours alone and think and think and +think, that he's had time to ask God about a good many things we don't +take time to ask about. I pray a lot, but my kind of prayers isn't +praying. They're mostly asking, and Father says prayer is +receiving—is getting God in you, I mean. I don't understand, but he +does, and he doesn't ask for things like I do, but for patience and +courage and—and things like that. No matter what happens, he keeps on +trusting. I don't. I'm not much of a truster. I want to do things my +way, myself." She leaned forward. "If I tell you something will you +promise not to tell anybody, not even Miss Frances when—when it's all +right?"</p> + +<p>"I promise."</p> + +<p>Van Landing nodded at the eager little face upraised to his. It was +singularly attractive and appealing, and the varying emotions that +swept over it indicated a temperament that took little in life calmly, +or as a commonplace happening, and a surge of protest at her +surroundings swept over him.</p> + +<p>"I promise," he repeated. "I won't tell."</p> + +<p>"Cross your heart and shut your eyes and I will tell you."</p> + +<p>Hands on his knees, Carmencita watched the awkward movements of Van +Landing's fingers, then she laughed joyously, but when she spoke her +voice was in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"I'm writing a book."</p> + +<p>"You are doing what?"</p> + +<p>"Writing a book! It's perfectly grand. That is, some days it is, but +most days it is a mess. It was a mess yesterday, and I burned up every +single word I wrote last week. I'll show it to you if you want to see +it."</p> + +<p>Without waiting for an answer Carmencita sprang to her feet, and with +noiseless movement skipped across the room, and from the middle drawer +of the chest between the windows took out a large flat box.</p> + +<p>"This is it." Again taking her seat on the stool at Van Landing's +feet, she opened the box carefully. One by one she lifted out of it +pieces of paper of varying size and color and held them toward her +visitor, who, hands clasped between knees, was bending forward and +watching with amazed interest the seemingly exhaustless contents of +the box beside him.</p> + +<p>"I use pad-paper when I have it." Several white sheets were laid in a +pile by themselves. "But most of the chapters are on wrapping-paper. +Mrs. Beckwith gives me all of hers, and so does Mrs. Rheinhimer when +her children don't chew it up before she can save it. That's chapter +fourteen. I don't like it much, it's so squshy, but I wrote it that +way because I read in a newspaper once that slops sold better than +anything else, and I'm writing this to sell, if I can."</p> + +<p>"Have you named it?" Van Landing's voice was as serious as +Carmencita's. "I've been told that a good title is a great help to a +book. I hope yours will bring you a good deal of money, but—"</p> + +<p>"So do I." Carmencita's hands came together fervently. "I'm bound to +make some money, and this is the only way I can think of until I'm +fourteen and can go to work. I'm just thirteen and two months, and I +can't go yet. The law won't let me. I used to think it took a lot of +sense to write a book, but the Damanarkist says it don't, and that +anybody who is fool enough to waste time could write the truck people +read nowadays. He don't read it, but I do, all I can get—I like it."</p> + +<p>"I've never tried to write." Van Landing again glanced at the clock. +Noodles was staying an interminably long time. "Like you, I imagined +it took some measure of ability—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it don't. I mean it doesn't take any to write things like +that." Carmencita's finger pointed to several backless magazines and a +couple of paper-bound books on the table behind her. "I read once that +people like to read things that make them laugh and cry and—and +forget about the rent money, and tell all about love-dovies and +villains and beautiful maidens, and my book's got some of all those +kinds of things in it. It hasn't got any—What did you say you thought +it took to write a book?"</p> + +<p>"Ability—that is, a little of it."</p> + +<p>"I guess that depends on the kind of book it is. I put something of +everything I could think of in mine, but I didn't put any ability in. +I didn't have any to put, and, besides, I wanted it to sell. That's +the chapter I love best." A large piece of brown paper was waved in +the air. "It's the one in which the Princess Patricia gets ready to +die because she hears her sweetheart making love to some one else, and +then she comes to her senses and makes him marry the other girl so +they can live miserable ever after, and the Princess goes about doing +good like Miss Frances. But I'm going to marry her to somebody before +I'm through—I'm—"</p> + +<p>"You believe in marriage, then." Van Landing smiled, and, stooping, +picked up several sheets of paper evidently torn from a blank-book. +"This must be the courtship chapter. It seems rather sentimental."</p> + +<p>"It is. Regular mush slush. It's the kind of courting a man who isn't +much does—that is, I guess it's the kind, but the Princess +understands. She's been fooled once. Tell me"—Carmencita leaned +forward and, arms again crossed on Van Landing's knees, looked +anxiously in his face—"what does a man say when he's really and truly +courting? I mean a nice man. When the Real one comes, the Right +one—what will he say? I'm just about there, and I don't know how to +go on."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could tell you." Van Landing leaned back in his chair and, +taking out his watch again, looked at it. "I shouldn't dare to try to +write a novel, consequently—"</p> + +<p>"I'll try anything while I'm waiting to go to work." Carmencita sat +back dejectedly. "Is a book a novel because it has love in it?"</p> + +<p>"It is generally supposed to be. When you are older you may write +your love scenes with greater knowledge and—"</p> + +<p>"No, I won't. I don't expect to have any love scenes when I get +married. I've read a lot of that, and it don't last. All I want my +husband to say is, 'Will you marry me, Carmencita?' and I will say, +'Yes,' and I hope we'll keep on liking each other. Some don't." Her +face changed, and she sat upright, her hands pressed to her breast. +"<i>This</i> is a novel—to—night is! We're living one, and you're the +Prince and Miss Frances is the Princess, and I found you! Oh, my +goodness! what is that?"</p> + +<p>With a swift movement she was on her feet and at the door. Van +Landing, too, rose quickly. Below could be heard loud voices, the +moving of furniture, and the cries of frightened children, and +cautiously Carmencita turned the knob and went into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Old Beer-Barrel is drunk again." Tiptoeing to the banister, she +leaned over it. "When he gets like this he's crazy as a loon, and some +day he'll kill somebody. Goodness gracious! he's coming up here!"</p> + +<p>Before Van Landing could reach her she was inside and at the +wash-stand. Taking up the pitcher filled with water, she again ran +into the hall, and as the cursing, stumbling man began to mount the +stairs she leaned over the banister and poured the contents of the +pitcher on his head. As if shot, the man stood still, face upturned, +hair drenched, hands trembling, then he sat down on the steps.</p> + +<p>Giving the pitcher to Van Landing, she told him to fill it and pointed +to a faucet in the hall. "I don't think he'll need another; one is +generally enough. I've seen him like this before. His wife won't throw +water in his face, but I throw." She leaned farther over the railing. +"If you'll be quiet and go back quick I won't put any more water on +you; it's awful cold, but if you don't—"</p> + +<p>Slowly, and as if dazed, the man on the steps got up, and as he +disappeared Carmencita nodded to her visitor to go back to her Father, +now standing by the table. Closing the door, she came toward him and +pushed him again in his chair, smoothing lightly the snow-white hair +and kissing the trembling fingers, then at his feet she took her seat.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry he waked you. It was just old Beer-Barrel. He oughtn't +to drink"—she raised her eyes to Van Landing's—"but a man who's got +a wife like his is bound to do something, and sometimes I wish I could +put the water on her instead of him."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII" />CHAPTER VIII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/08.png" width="73" height="120" alt="F" title="" /> +</div><p>or a moment Van Landing walked up and down the room, hands in his +pockets and heart pounding in a way of which he was ashamed. +Ordinarily the sight of a drunken man would have awakened little +emotion save disgust, but the realization of the helplessness of the +two people before him filled him with inward rage, and for some time +he could not trust himself to speak. A sickening horror of this +hideous side of life filled him with strange protest. Yesterday he had +not known and had not cared that such things could be, and now—</p> + +<p>On Carmencita's face was none of the alarm that had come into his. Her +father, too, was getting over his fright. For this helpless old man +and fair, frail child, whose wit and courage were equal to situations +of which she had the right of childhood to be ignorant, the scene just +witnessed had the familiarity of frequent repetition, but for him it +was horribly new, and if the Damanarkist of whom Carmencita so often +spoke should come in he would be glad to shake his hand.</p> + +<p>A noise at the door made him start. They were coming. The boy and +Frances. He dug his hands deeper in his pockets to hide their +trembling, and his face went white.</p> + +<p>But it was not Noodles. It was Mr. Robinsky, who had brought the harp, +and, though he evidently intended to sit down and talk, with +consummate skill and grace he was led into the hall by Carmencita and +told good night with sweetness and decision. It was wonderfully +managed. No man could have done it, and in his heart Van Landing +thanked her; but before he could speak there was a loud pounding on +the door, and both he and Carmencita started nervously toward it.</p> + +<p>"It's Noodles. I know his knock." Carmencita's hands clasped tightly, +and in her voice was eager trembling. "I'm so excited I can't breathe +good! It's like being in a book. Go in the room over there quick, Mr. +Van. Come in!"</p> + +<p>With inward as well as outward rigidity Van Landing waited. To the +movements of Carmencita's hand waving him away he paid no attention. +In thick, heavy throbs his heart sent the blood to his face, then it +receded, and for a moment the room was dark and he saw nothing. To the +"come in" of Carmencita the door opened, and he looked in its +direction. Noodles was alone.</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" Carmencita's voice was high and shrill in excitement +and dismay. "I told you to wait for her! You know I told you to wait +for her!"</p> + +<p>Cap in hand, Noodles looked first at Van Landing and then at the +child. "Warn't no her to wait for," he said, presently. "She ain't +there, and she didn't go to the class to-night. Miss James went for +her. Some of her kin-folks is in town staying with some their +kin-folks, and she is spending the night with 'em." The now soiled and +crumpled note was held toward Carmencita. "She won't be back till day +after to-morrow, what's Christmas eve, though she might come back +to-morrow night, Fetch-It said. Warn't nobody there but +Fetch-It—leastways warn't nobody else I seen."</p> + +<p>Van Landing looked at Carmencita, then turned sharply and went over +toward the window. A choking, stifling sensation made breathing +difficult, and, the tension of the past few hours relaxed, he felt as +one on the edge of a precipice from which at any moment he might +topple over. It was too cold to open the window, but he must have air. +Going to the couch, he took up his hat and coat, then came back and +held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Give him this"—he nodded at Noodles, "and tell your father good +night. And thank you, Carmencita, thank you for letting me come. +To-morrow—" The room was getting black. "I will see you to-morrow."</p> + +<p>A moment later he was out of the room and down the steps and on the +street, and in the darkness he walked as one who feels something in +his way he cannot see; and then he laughed, and the laugh was hard and +bitter, and in it was a sound that was not good to hear.</p> + +<p>The cold air stung his face, made breathing better, and after a while +he looked up. For many blocks he had walked unheedingly, but, hearing +a church-bell strike the hour, he took out his watch and glanced at +it. To go home was impossible. Turning into a side-street, he walked +rapidly in a direction that led he knew not whither, and for a while +let the stinging sensation of disappointment and rebellion possess him +without restraint. It was pretty cruel, this sudden shutting of the +door of hope in his face. The discovery of Frances's presence in the +city had brought again in full tumultuous surge the old love and +longing, and the hours of waiting had been well-nigh unendurable. And +now he would have to wait until day after to-morrow. He would go +to-morrow night to this Mother Somebody. What was her name? He could +remember nothing, was, indeed, as stupid as if he had been knocked in +the head. Well, he had been. Where did this woman live? The child had +refused to tell him. With a sudden stop he looked around. Where was +he? He had walked miles in and out of streets as unknown to him as if +part of a city he had never been in, and he had no idea where he was. +A sudden fear gripped him. Where did Carmencita live? He had paid no +attention to the streets they were on when she took him to the house +she called home. He was full of other thought, but her address, of +course, he would get before he left, and he had left without asking. +What a fool he was! What a stupid fool! For half a moment he looked +uncertainly up and down the street whose name he did not know. No +policeman was in sight; no one was in sight except a woman on the +opposite pavement, who was scurrying along with something under her +shawl hugged close to her breast, and a young girl who was coming his +way. Turning, he retraced his steps. He did not know in which +direction to go. He only knew he must keep on. Perhaps he could find +his way back to the place where Carmencita lived.</p> + +<p>He did not find it. Through the night he walked street after street, +trying to recall some building he had passed, but he had walked as +blind men walk, and nothing had been noticed. To ask of people what +they could not tell was useless. He did not know the name of the +street he wanted to find, and, moreover, a curious shrinking kept him +from inquiring. In the morning he would find it, but he did not want +to make demands upon the usual sources for help until he had exhausted +all other means of redeeming his folly in not learning Carmencita's +full name and address before he left her. Was a man's whole life to be +changed, to be made or unmade, by whimsical chance or by stupid +blunder? In the gray dawn of a new day he reached his home and went to +bed for a few hours' sleep.</p> + +<p>When, later, he left his house to renew his search for Carmencita the +weather had changed. It had begun to snow, and tiny particles of ice +stung his face as he walked, and the people who passed shivered as +they hurried by. On every street that offered chance of being the one +he sought he went up and down its length, and not until he felt he was +being noticed did he take into partial confidence a good-natured +policeman who had nodded to him on his third passing. The man was +kindly, but for hay-stack needles there was no time and he was +directed to headquarters. To find a house, number unknown, on a +street, name unknown, of a party, full name again unknown, was too +much of a puzzle for busy times like these. Any other time than +Christmas—He was turned from that an inquiry from a woman with a +child in her arms might be answered.</p> + +<p>"Any other time than Christmas!"</p> + +<p>With a sense of demoralization it was dawning on him that he might not +find her, or Carmencita, in time for Christmas, and he <i>must</i> find +them. A great hunger for the day to be to him what it seemed to be to +others possessed him feverishly, and with eyes that saw what they had +never seen before he watched, as he walked, the faces of the people +who passed, and in his heart crept childish longing to buy something +for somebody, something that was wanted very much, as these people +seemed to be doing. He had made out the checks he usually sent to +certain institutions and certain parties at this season of the year +for his head clerk to mail. By this time they had been received, but +with them had gone no word of greeting or good will; his card alone +had been inclosed. A few orders had been left at various stores, but +with them went no Christmas spirit. He wondered how it would feel to +buy a thing that could make one's face look as Carmencita's had looked +when she made her purchase of the night before. It was a locket she +had bought—a gold locket.</p> + +<p>In a whispered confidence while in the car she had told him it was for +her mother's picture. The picture used to be in her father's watch, +but the watch had to be sold when he was sick, after her mother's +death, and he had missed the touch of the picture so. She knew, for +often she had seen him holding his watch in his hand, open at the +back, where the picture lay, with his fingers on it, and sometimes he +would kiss it when he thought she was out of the room. After the watch +was sold the picture had been folded up in one of her mother's +handkerchiefs, and her father kept it in the pocket of his coat; but +once it had slipped out of the handkerchief, and once through a hole +in the pocket, and they thought it was lost. Her father hadn't slept +any that night. And now he could sleep with the locket around his +neck. She would put it on a ribbon. Wasn't it grand? And Carmencita's +hands had clasped ecstatically.</p> + +<p>Up and down the streets he went, looking, looking, looking. The +district in which he found himself was one of the poorest in the city, +but the shops were crowded with buyers, and, though the goods for sale +were cheap and common and of a quality that at other times would have +repelled, to-day they interested. Carmencita might be among the +shoppers. She had said she had a few things to get for some +children—penny things—and she was possibly out, notwithstanding the +snow which now was falling thick and fast.</p> + +<p>Some time after his usual lunch-hour he remembered he must have +something to eat; and, going into a dingy-looking restaurant, he sat +down at a table, the only one which had a vacant seat at it, and +ordered coffee and oysters. His table companion was a half-grown boy +with chapped hands and a thin white face; but his eyes were clear and +happy, and the piece of pie he was eating was being swallowed in huge +hunks. It was his sole order, a piece of awful-looking pie. As the +coffee and oysters were brought him Van Landing saw the boy look at +them hungrily and then turn his eyes away.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon." Van Landing, whose well-regulated life permitted +of few impulses, turned to the boy. "I ordered these things"—he +pointed to the steaming food—"and I don't want them. I want something +else. Would you mind having them? It's a pity to throw them away."</p> + +<p>The boy hesitated, uncertain what was meant, then he laughed. "It sure +is," he said. "If you don't want them I'll help you out. I'm hollow as +a hound what's been on a hunt. Good thing Christmas don't come but +once a year. You can cut out lunch better'n anything else for a +save-up, though. That girl over there"—he pointed his finger behind +him—"ain't had nothing but a glass of milk for a month. She's got +some kiddie brothers and sisters, and they're bound to have Christmas, +she says. Rough day, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing gave another order. Had it not been for the gnawing +restlessness, the growing fear, which filled him, the scene would have +interested. A few days ago he would have seen only the sordid side of +it, the crudeness and coarseness; but the search he was on had +humanized what hitherto had only seemed a disagreeable and +objectionable side of life, and the people before him were of an odd +kinship. In their faces was hunger. There were so many kinds of hunger +in the world. He got up, and with a nod to the boy paid his bill and +went out.</p> + +<p>Through the afternoon hours he walked steadily. Dogged determination +made him keep on, just as sensitive shrinking prevented his making +inquiries of others. It was silly to ask what couldn't be answered. He +must have been mad the night before not to have noticed where he was +going, not to have asked Carmencita her name.</p> + +<p>By four o'clock the street-lights had been turned on, making of the +dark, dingy tenements a long lane with high, unbroken walls, and on a +corner he stood for a moment wondering which was the best way to go. +To his left were shops; he went toward them, and each face of the +children coming in or going out was scanned intently. Seeing a group +pressed close to a window in which was displayed an assortment of +dolls of all sorts and sizes, with peculiar clothing of peculiar +colors, he went toward them, stood for a moment by their side. One of +the children was the size of Carmencita.</p> + +<p>"That's mine—that one in the pink-silk dress"—a dirty little finger +was pointed to a huge and highly decorated doll in the center of the +window—"that and the blue beads, and that box of paints with the +picture on it, and—"</p> + +<p>"You're a pig, all right. Want the earth, don't you? Well, you can't +have it." And valiantly a child with a shawl on her head pushed closer +to the window, now clouded by the steam from many little mouths. "I +want that one—the one in long clothes with a cap on. What you want, +Lizzie Lue? Look out there and keep your elbows where they +belong"—this to the jostling, pushing crowd behind. "Come on, kid; +kick if you have to; only way you can manage some folks. Which one you +want, Lizzie Lue?" And a tiny scrap of a child was held up in arms but +little bigger than her own.</p> + +<p>As Van Landing listened a sudden impulse to take the children in and +get for them the things they wanted came over him; then he walked +away. If only he could find Carmencita and let her do the buying. Was +Christmas like this every year? These children with no chance—was +there no one to give them their share of childhood's rights? +Settlement workers, churches, schools, charity associations—things of +that sort doubtless saw to them. It was not his business. But wasn't +it his business? Could it possibly be his business to know—and care?</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir."</p> + +<p>Van Landing looked up. A tall, slender man in working-clothes, a +basket on one arm, his wife holding to the other, tried to touch his +hat. "The crowd makes walking hard without pushing. I hope I didn't +step on your foot."</p> + +<p>"Didn't touch it." The man had on no overcoat, and his hands were red +and chapped. He was much too thin for his height, and as he coughed +Van Landing understood. "Shopping, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>Why he asked he did not know, and it was the wife he asked, the young +wife whose timid clutch of her husband's arm was very unlike the +manner of most of the women he had passed. She looked up.</p> + +<p>"We were afraid to wait until to-morrow, it's snowing so hard. We +might not be able to get out, and the children—"</p> + +<p>"We've got three kiddies home." The man's thin face brightened, and he +rubbed his coat sleeve across his mouth to check his cough. "Santa +Claus is sure enough to them, and we don't want 'em to know different +till we have to. A merry Christmas, sir!"</p> + +<p>As they went on Van Landing turned and looked. They were poor people. +But were they quite so poor as he? He had seen many for whom he might +have made Christmas had he known in time—might have saved the +sacrifices that had to be made; but would it then have been Christmas? +Slowly, very slowly, in the shabby street and snow-filled air, an +understanding of things but dimly glimpsed before was coming to him, +and he was seeing what for long had been unseen.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX" />CHAPTER IX</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/09.png" width="73" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><p>hink hard, Father—oh, <i>please</i> think hard! It was Van—Van—" +Carmencita, hands clutched tightly behind her back, leaned forward on +her tiptoes and anxiously peered into her father's face for sign of +dawning memory. "If I hadn't been so Christmas-crazy I'd have listened +better, but I wasn't thinking about his name. Can't you—<i>can't</i> you +remember the last part? It was Van—Van—"</p> + +<p>Slowly her father shook his head. "I wish I could, Carmencita. I don't +hear well of late and I didn't catch his name. You called him Mr. +Van."</p> + +<p>"I called him that for short. I'm a cutting-down person even in +names." The palms of Carmencita's hands came together and her fingers +interlocked. "If I'd had more sense and manners I'd have called his +name right from the first, and we wouldn't have lost him. I could +have found him to-day if I'd known what to look for in the +telephone-book, or if Miss Frances had been at Mother McNeil's. She +might as well be lost, too, but she'll be back at seven, and that's +why I am going now, so as to be there the minute she gets in, to ask +her what his—"</p> + +<p>"She might not like your asking, Carmencita. You must be careful, +child. Miss Barbour is not a lady one can—"</p> + +<p>"Not a lady one can what?" Carmencita stopped her nervous swaying, and +the big blue eyes looked questioningly at her father. "Was there ever +a lady who didn't want to find her lost lover if he was looking for +her? That's what he is. And she wants to find him, if she don't know +it exactly. She's working it off down here with us children, but she's +got something on her mind. He's it. We've got to find him, Father—got +to!"</p> + +<p>With a dexterous movement of her fingers Carmencita fastened the +buttons of her coat and pulled her hat down on her head. "I'm going +back to Mother McNeil's," she said, presently, and the large and +half-worn rubbers which she had tied on over her shoes were looked at +speculatively. "The Damanarkist is going to take me. As soon as Miss +Frances tells me Mr. Van's name I'll telephone him to come quick, but +I won't tell her that. She might go away again. In that slushy book I +read the girl ought to have been shook. She was dying dead in love +with her sweetheart and treated him like he was a poodle-dog. Miss +Frances wouldn't do that, but I don't know what she might do, and I'm +not going to tell her any more than I can help. I want her to think it +just happened. Good-by, and go to sleep if you want to, but don't +smoke, please. You might drop the sparks on your coat. Good-by."</p> + +<p>With a swift kiss she was gone and, meeting the Damanarkist, who was +waiting outside the door, they went down the three flights of steps +and out into the street. The wind was biting, and, turning up the +collar of her coat, Carmencita put her hands in her pockets and made +effort to walk rapidly through the thick snow into which her feet sank +with each step. For some minutes conversation was impossible. Heads +ducked to keep out of their faces the fast-falling flakes, they +trudged along in silence until within a few doors of Mother McNeil's +house, and then Carmencita looked up.</p> + +<p>"Do—do you ever pray, Mr. Leimberg—pray hard, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Pray!" The Damanarkist drew in his breath and laughed with smothered +scorn. "Pray! Why should I pray? I cut out prayer when I was a kid. +No, I don't pray."</p> + +<p>"It's a great comfort, praying is." Carmencita's hand was taken out of +her pocket and slipped through the arm of her disillusioned friend. +"Sometimes you're just bound to pray. It's like breathing—you can't +help it. It—it just rises up. I prayed yesterday for—for something, +and it pretty near happened, but—"</p> + +<p>"And you think your praying helped to make it happen!" Mr. Leimberg +drew Carmencita's hand farther through his arm, and his lips twisted +in contemptuous pity. "You think there is a magician up—oh, +somewhere, who makes things happen, do you? Think—"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Carmencita's feet skipped in spite of the clogging snow. "I +think that somewhere there is Somebody who knows about everything, but +I don't think He means us to ask for anything we want just because we +want it and don't do a lick to get it. I've been praying for months +and months about my temper and stamping my foot when I get mad, and +if I remember in time and hold down the up-comings my prayers are +always answered; but when I let go and forget—" Carmencita whistled a +long, low, significant note. "I guess then I don't want to be +answered. I want to smash something. But I didn't pray yesterday about +tempers and stamping. It was pretty near a miracle that I asked for, +though I said I wasn't asking for miracles or—"</p> + +<p>"All people who pray ask for miracles. Since the days when men +feared floods and famines and pestilence and evil spirits they have +cried out for protection and propitiated what to them were gods." +The Damanarkist spit upon the ground as if to spew contempt of +pretense and cupidity. "I've no patience with it. If there is a +God, He knows the cursed struggle life is with most of us; and if +there isn't, prayer is but a waste of time."</p> + +<p>Carmencita lifted her eyes and for a moment looked in the dark, thin +face, embittered by the losing battle of life, as if she had not heard +aright, then she laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"If I didn't know you, dear Mr. Damanarkist, I'd think you really +meant it—what you said. And you don't. I don't guess there's anybody +in all the world who doesn't pray sometimes. Something in you does it +by itself, and you can't keep it back. You just wait until you feel +all lost and lonely and afraid, or so glad you are ready to sing out +loud, then you'll do it—inside, if you don't speak out. If I prayed +harder to have more sense and not talk so much, and not say what I +think about people, and not hate my ugly clothes so, and despise the +smell of onions and cabbage and soap-suds, I might get more answers, +but you can't get answers just by praying. You've got to work like the +mischief, and be a regular policeman over yourself and nab the bad +things the minute they poke their heads out. If I'd prayed differently +yesterday I wouldn't have been looking for—for somebody all to-day, +and be a jumping-jack to-night for fear I won't find him. Did—did you +ever have a sweetheart, Mr. Damanarkist?" Before answer could be made +Mother McNeil's house was reached, and with steps that were leaps +Carmencita was at the door, and a moment later inside. Finding that +Miss Frances had returned, she called to Mr. Leimberg to come for her +on his way back from the station library where he was to get his book, +and breathlessly she ran to Miss Barbour's door and knocked violently +upon it.</p> + +<p>To the "come in" she entered, eyes big and shining, and cheeks stung +into color by the bitter wind; and with a rush forward the hands of +her adored friend were caught and held with a tight and nervous grip.</p> + +<p>"Miss Frances! Miss Frances!"</p> + +<p>Two arms were flung around Miss Barbour's waist, and for a moment the +curly brown head was buried on her breast and words refused to come; +instead came breathing short and quick; then Carmencita looked up.</p> + +<p>"What—oh, what is his name, Miss Frances? He was found and now is +lost, and I promised—I promised I'd get you for him!"</p> + +<p>Frances Barbour lifted the excited little face and kissed it. "What's +the matter, Carmencita? You look as if you'd seen a ghost, and you're +talking as if—"</p> + +<p>"I'm crazy—I'm not. And there isn't any time to lose. He said he +<i>must</i> find you before Christmas. There isn't a soul to make Christmas +for him, and he hasn't anybody to buy things for, and he's as lonely +as a—a desert person, and he doesn't want any one but you. Oh, Miss +Frances, what is his name?"</p> + +<p>Frances Barbour leaned back in the chair in which she had taken her +seat, and her face whitened. "What are you talking about, and who +is—"</p> + +<p>"I'm talking about—Him." On her knees Carmencita crouched against her +friend's chair, and her long, slender fingers intertwined with those +which had suddenly grown nerveless. "I'm talking about your +sweetheart, Miss Frances. I found him for you, and then I lost him. +I'll tell you how it happened after I know all of his name and—If you +had seen his face when I told him I knew you and knew where you lived +you'd hurry, you'd—"</p> + +<p>"If he wishes to see me, why doesn't he—I mean—" Sudden color surged +into the face turned from the child's eager eyes. "What are we talking +about, Carmencita? There is evidently some mistake."</p> + +<p>"There is. An awful one. It's three years old. And we're talking about +the gentleman Father and I met yesterday and lost last night. You're +his sweetheart, and he wants you for Christmas and for ever after, and +he may be dead by to-morrow if he doesn't find you. He came to our +house, and I wrote you a note to come, too, and when you didn't do it +he looked as if he'd been hit in the face and couldn't breathe good, +and he stumbled down the steps like a blind man, and we'd forgot to +tell him our name, and he didn't know the number of our house, and—" +She paused for breath and brushed back the curls from her face. "I +know he's been looking all day. Where does he live, Miss Frances, and +what is his name?"</p> + +<p>"If you will tell me of whom you are talking I will tell you whether +or not I know him. Until you do—"</p> + +<p>"I told you I didn't remember any of his name but the Van part. Don't +you know the name of the person you love best on earth? It's his name +I want."</p> + +<p>Frances Barbour got up and walked over to the bureau and opened its +top drawer. "You are asking questions that in any one else I would not +permit, Carmencita. I am sure you do not mean to be—"</p> + +<p>"I don't mean anything but that I want to know all of Mr. Van's name, +and if you don't tell me you are not a Christian!"</p> + +<p>With a change of expression Carmencita sprang to her feet and, hands +clasped behind her back, she stood erect, her eyes blazing with +indignation. "If you don't tell him where you are, don't let him come, +I'll think it's all just make-believe and put on, your coming and +doing for people you don't really and truly know, and doing nothing +for those you do, and letting the ones you love best be lonely and +miserable and having Christmas all by themselves when they're starving +hungry for you. What is his name?" Carmencita's voice was high and +shrill, and her foot was stamped vehemently. "What is his name?"</p> + +<p>"Stephen Van Landing."</p> + +<p>Face to face, Frances Barbour and Carmencita looked into each other's +eyes, then with a leap Carmencita was out of the room and down the +steps and at the telephone. With hands that trembled she turned the +pages of the book she was holding upside down, then with disgust at +her stupidity she righted it and ran her finger down the long line of +V's. Finding at last the name she wanted, she called the number, then +closed her eyes and prayed fervently, feverishly, and half-aloud the +words came jerkily:</p> + +<p>"O God, please let him be home, and let him get down here quick before +Miss Frances goes out. She and Mother McNeil are going somewhere and +won't be back until eleven, and that would be too late for him to +come, and—Hello!" The receiver was jammed closer to her ear. "Is +that Mr. Van Landing's house? Is he home? He—he—isn't home!" The +words came in a little wail. "Oh, he must be home! Are you +sure—<i>sure</i>? Where can I get him? Where is he? You don't know—hasn't +been at the office all day and hasn't telephoned? He's looking—I mean +I guess he's, trying to find somebody. Who is this talking? It's—it's +a friend of his, and tell him the minute he comes in to call up Pelham +4293 and ask for Miss Frances Barbour, who wants to talk to him. And +listen. Tell him if she's out to come to 14 Custer Street, to Mother +McNeil's, and wait until she gets home. Write it down. Got it? Yes, +that's it. Welcome. Good-by."</p> + +<p>The receiver was hung upon its hook, and for a moment Carmencita +stared at the wall; then her face sobered. The strain and tension of +the day gave way, and the high hopes of the night before went out as +at the snuffing of a candle. Presently she nodded into space.</p> + +<p>"I stamped my foot at Miss Frances. <i>Stamped my foot</i>! And I got mad, +and was impertinent, and talked like a gutter girl to a sure-enough +lady. Talked like—"</p> + +<p>Her teeth came down on her lips to stop their sudden quivering, and +the picture on the wall grew blurred and indistinct.</p> + +<p>"There isn't any use in praying." Two big tears rolled down her cheeks +and fell upon her hands. "I might as well give up."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X" />CHAPTER X</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/10.png" width="73" height="120" alt="F" title="" /> +</div><p>or a half-moment after Carmencita left the room Frances Barbour stood +in the middle of the floor and stared at the door, still open, then +went over and closed it. Coming back to the table at which she had +been writing, she sat down and took up her pen and made large circles +on the sheet of paper before her. Slowly the color in her face cooled +and left it white.</p> + +<p>Carmencita was by nature cyclonic. Her buoyancy and bubbling spirits, +her enthusiasms and intensities, were well understood, but how could +she possibly know Stephen Van Landing? All day he had been strangely +on her mind, always he was in her heart, but thought of him was forced +to be subconscious, for none other was allowed. Of late, however, +crowd it back as she would, a haunting sense of his presence had been +with her, and under the busy and absorbed air with which she had gone +about the day's demands there had been sharp surge of unpermitted +memories of which she was impatient and ashamed.</p> + +<p>Also there had been disquieting questions, questions to which she had +long refused to listen, and in the crush and crowd they had pursued +her, peered at her in unexpected places, and faced her in the quiet of +her room, and from them she was making effort to escape when +Carmencita burst in upon her. The latter was too excited, too full of +some new adventure, to talk clearly or coherently. Always Carmencita +was adventuring, but what could she mean by demanding to know the name +of her sweetheart, and by saying she had found him and then lost him? +And why had she, Frances Barbour, told her as obediently as if their +positions were reversed and she the child instead of Carmencita?</p> + +<p>Elbow on the table and chin in the palm of her hand, she tapped the +desk-pad with her pen and made small dots in the large circles she had +drawn on the paper, and slowly she wrote a name upon it.</p> + +<p>What could Stephen Van Landing be doing in this part of the town? He +was one of the city's successful men, but he did not know his city. +Disagreeable sights and sounds had by him been hitherto avoided, and +in this section they were chiefly what was found. Why should he have +come to it? That he was selfish and absorbed in his own affairs, that +he was conventional and tradition—trained, was as true to-day, +perhaps, as when she had told him so three years ago, but had they +taught him nothing, these three years that were past? Did he still +think, still believe—</p> + +<p>With a restless movement she turned in her chair, and her hands +twisted in her lap. Was she not still as stubborn as of old, still as +proud and impatient of restraint where her sense of freedom and +independence of action were in question, still as self-willed? And was +it true, what Carmencita had said—was she giving herself to others +and refusing herself to the only one who had the right to claim her, +the royal right of love?</p> + +<p>But how did she know he still needed her, wanted her? When she had +returned to her own city after long absence she had told of her +present place of residence to but few of her old friends. Her own +sorrow, her own sudden facing of the inevitable and unescapable, had +brought her sharply to a realization of how little she was doing with +the time that was hers, and she had been honest and sincere when she +had come to Mother McNeil's and asked to be shown the side of life she +had hitherto known but little—the sordid, sinful, struggling side in +which children especially had so small a chance. In these years of +absence he had made no sign. Even if it were true, what Carmencita had +said, that he—that is, a man named Van Something—was looking for +her, until he found her she could not tell him where she was.</p> + +<p>She had not wished her friends to know. Settlements and society were +as oil and water, and for the present the work she had undertaken +needed all her time and thought. If only people knew, if only people +understood, the things that she now knew and had come to understand, +the inequalities and injustices of life would no longer sting and +darken and embitter as they stung and darkened and embittered now, and +if she and Stephen could work together—</p> + +<p>He was living in the same place, his offices were in the same place, +and he worked relentlessly, she was told. Although he did not know she +was in the city, she knew much of him, knew of his practical +withdrawal from the old life, knew of a certain cynicism that was +becoming settled; and a thousand times she had blamed herself for the +unhappiness that was his as well as hers. She loved her work, would +always be glad that she had lived among the people who were so +singularly like those other people who thought themselves so +different, but if he still needed her, wanted her, was it not her +duty—</p> + +<p>With an impatient movement of her hands she got up and went over to +the window. There was no duty about it. It was love that called him to +her. She should not have let Carmencita go without finding from her +how it happened that she had met Stephen Van Landing on Custer Street. +She must go to Carmencita and ask her. If he were really looking for +her they might spend Christmas together. The blood surged hotly to her +face, and the beating of her heart made her hands unsteady. If +together—</p> + +<p>A noise behind made her turn. Hand on the door-knob, Carmencita was +standing in the hall, her head inside the room. All glow was gone, and +hope and excitement had yielded to dejection and despair.</p> + +<p>"I just came to beg your pardon for—for stamping my foot, and I'm +sorry I said what I did." The big blue eyes looked down on the floor +and one foot twisted around the other. "It isn't any use to forgive +me. I'm not worth forgiving. I'm not worth—"</p> + +<p>The door was slammed violently, and before Miss Barbour could reach +the hall Carmencita was down the steps and out into the street, where +the Damanarkist was waiting.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI" />CHAPTER XI</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 76px;"> +<img src="images/11.png" width="76" height="120" alt="L" title="" /> +</div><p>ate into the night Stephen Van Landing kept up his hurried walking. +Again and again he had stopped and made inquiries of policemen, of +children, of men and women, but no one knew that of which he asked. A +blind man who played the harp, a child named Carmencita, a boy called +Noodles, a settlement house, he supposed, over which Mother Somebody +presided—these were all he had to go on. To ask concerning Miss +Barbour was impossible. He could not bring himself to call her name. +He would have to go to headquarters for help. To-morrow would be +Christmas eve. He <i>would not</i> spend Christmas alone—or in the usual +way.</p> + +<p>"Say, mister, don't you wish you was a boy again? Get out the way!"</p> + +<p>With a push the boy swept by him, pulling on a self-constructed sleigh +a still smaller boy, and behind the two swarmed a bunch of yelling +youngsters who, as they passed, pelted him with snow. One of them +stopped to tie the string of his shoe, and, looking down, Van Landing +saw—Noodles.</p> + +<p>With a swift movement he reached down to grab him, but, thinking it +was a cop, the boy was up and gone with a flash and in half a moment +was out of sight. As swiftly as the boy Van Landing ran down the +street and turned the corner he had seen the boy turn. His heart was +beating thickly, his breath came unevenly, and the snow was blinding, +but there was no thought of stopping. He bumped into a man coming +toward him, and two hats flew in the air and on the pavement, but he +went on. The hat did not matter, only Noodles mattered, and Noodles +could no longer be seen. Down the street, around first one corner and +then another, he kept on in fierce pursuit for some moments; then, +finding breathing difficult, he paused and leaned against the step +railing of a high porch, to better get his bearings. Disappointment +and fury were overmastering him. It was impossible and absurd to have +within one's grasp what one had been looking for all day and part of +two nights, and have it slip away like that.</p> + +<p>"Come on. No use—that—" The policeman's voice was surly. "If you'll +walk quiet I won't ring up. If you don't you'll get a free ride. Come +on."</p> + +<p>"Come on?" Van Landing put his hand to his head. His hat was gone. He +looked down at his feet. They were soaking wet. His overcoat was +glazed with a coating of fine particles of ice, and his hands were +trembling. He had eaten practically nothing since his lunch of +Tuesday, had walked many miles, and slept but a few hours after a +night of anxious searching, and suddenly he felt faint and sick.</p> + +<p>"Come on?" he repeated. "Come where?"</p> + +<p>"Where you belong." The policeman's grasp was steadying. "Hurry up. I +can't wait here all night."</p> + +<p>"Neither can I." Van Landing took out his handkerchief and wiped his +face. "I wish you'd get my hat." The crowd was pressing closer. He was +losing time and must get away. Besides, he could not trust himself. +The man's manner was insolent, and he was afraid he would kick him. +Instead he slipped some money in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Mistake, my friend. You'd have your trouble for nothing if you took +me in. There's no charge save running. I want to find a boy who +passed me just now. Name is Noodles. Know him?"</p> + +<p>For a moment the cop hesitated. The man's voice, dress, manner, were +not the sort seen in this section, and the bill slipped in his hand +had a yellow tinge—still—</p> + +<p>"I've dropped my hat. Get it, will you?" Van Landing threw some change +in the still gathering crowd, and as they scampered for it he turned +to the policeman, then caught hold of the railing. A hateful faintness +was coming over him again. On the edge of the crowd a girl with a +middle-aged woman had stopped, and the girl was making her way toward +him.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mr. Cronklin? Not one of our boys?" The clear voice +reached him as if at his side. He steadied himself, stared, and tried +to speak.</p> + +<p>"Frances," he said, and held out his hands. "You've made me walk so +far, Frances, and Christmas is—"</p> + +<p>In the snow his feet slipped. The cop was such a fool. He had never +fainted in his life.</p> + +<p>Some one was standing near him. Who was it, and where was he? This +wasn't his room. On his elbow, he looked around. Nothing was +familiar. It must be a woman's room; he could see photographs and a +pin-cushion on the bureau, and flowers were growing on a table near +the window. The bed he was in was small and white. His was big and +brass. What had happened? Slowly it came to him, and he started to get +up, then fell back. The surge of blood receded, and again there was +giddiness. Had he lost her? Had she, too, slipped out of his hands +because of his confounded fall? It was a durned outrage that he should +have fallen. Who was that man with his back to the bed?</p> + +<p>The man turned. "All right, are you? That's good!" His pulse was felt +with professional fingers, but in the doctor's voice was frank +interest. "You were pretty nearly frozen, man. It's well she saw you."</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" Van Landing sat up. "Where are my clothes? I must get +up."</p> + +<p>"I guess not." The doctor laughed, but his tone was as decisive as his +act. Van Landing was pushed back on the pillow and the covering pulled +up. "Do you mean Miss Barbour?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Where is Miss Barbour?"</p> + +<p>The doctor wrote something on a slip of paper. "Down-stairs, waiting +to hear how you are. I'll go down and tell her. I'll see you in the +morning."</p> + +<p>"Where am I? Whose house is this?"</p> + +<p>"Your house at present." The doctor laughed again. "It's Mother +McNeil's house, but all who need it use it, and you needed it, all +right. You struck your head on the bottom step of the porch three +doors from here. Had it been an inch nearer the temple—Pretty bad +knock-out, as it was, but you'll be all right to-morrow. If you wake +up in a couple of hours take another one of these"—a pill was +obediently swallowed—"but you're to see no one until I see you again. +No talking."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, but I must see Miss Barbour." In Van Landing's voice was sharp +fear. "Christmas isn't over yet? I haven't missed it, have I? Are you +sure she's in this house?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. She's getting ready for to-morrow. To-morrow will be the +busiest day in the year. It's Christmas eve."</p> + +<p>Van Landing slipped down in the bed and his face went deep in the +pillows. Reaction was on. A horrible fear that he was going to cry, +going to do some abominably childish thing, made him stuff the +covering in his mouth and press his feet hard against the foot of the +bed. He would <i>not</i> be cheated out of Christmas! He had believed he +hated it, thought he wanted to be dead during it, and now if it were +over and nothing done—Presently he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may speak to her in the +morning—before she goes out? My name is Van Landing—Stephen Van +Landing. I was a friend of hers once."</p> + +<p>"One now." The doctor's voice was dryly emphatic. "Lucky she +recognized you. Rather startled her, finding an old friend so +unexpectedly." Over his spectacles his kind, shrewd eyes looked down +on the man in the bed. "I'll see her. Miss Barbour is an exceptional +woman, but she's a woman, which means when she knows you are all right +she may not have time to see you. At present she's outside your door. +That's her knock. Guess she's got the milk."</p> + +<p>With breath held, Van Landing listened. Very low were the words +spoken, then the door was closed again. His heart was calling to her. +The long and empty years in which he had hoped against hope, and yet +could make no effort to find her, faded as mist fades before the light +that dawns and glows; and to say no word when she was near, to hold +hands still that longed to outstretch, to make no sign when he would +kneel for pardon at her feet—it was not to be endured. He would not +wait; the doctor must let her in!</p> + +<p>But it was not the doctor who was at his bed. It was a short, plump +woman of more than middle age, with twinkling gray eyes and firm, kind +hands and a cheery voice.</p> + +<p>"It's the milk, my son," she said, and the steaming glass was held to +his lips. "When you've had it you will sleep like a baby. It's warm, +are you—and the feet good and hot? Let me feel that water-bag? Bless +my soul if it's even lukewarm, and your feet still shivery! It's no +wonder, for they were ice itself when they brought you in."</p> + +<p>With dexterous fingers the hot-water bag was withdrawn from the foot +of the bed and Mother McNeil was out of the room. Back again, she +slipped it close to his feet, tucked in the covering, patted the +pillows, and, lowering the light, turned to leave the room. At the +door she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you're needing, my son—anything I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>For a moment there was silence, broken only by the ticking of a tiny +clock on the mantel, then Van Landing spoke.</p> + +<p>"Yes." His voice was boyishly low. "Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may +see her to-morrow before she goes out? I <i>must</i> see her."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will. And you can tell her how it happened that you were +right near our door when you fell, and you didn't even know she was in +town. Very few of her up-town friends know. There wasn't time for both +up-town and down-town, and there were things she wanted to find out. +She tells me you are an old friend, and I'm glad you've come across +each other again. It pleases some folks to believe in chance, but I +get more comfort thinking God has His own way. Good night, Mr. Van +Landing. Good dreams—good dreams!"</p> + +<p>The door was closed softly, and under the bedclothes Van Landing again +buried his face in the pillows, and his lips twitched. Chance—was it +chance or was it God? If only God would give him a chance!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII" />CHAPTER XII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/12.png" width="73" height="120" alt="H" title="" /> +</div><p>e was too tired, too utterly relaxed by warmth and medicine, to think +clearly. To-morrow he would find Carmencita, and she should get the +things the children wanted. They were very strange, the places and +people he had seen to-day. Of course he had known about such places +and people, read about them, heard about them, but seeing for one's +self was different. There were a lot of bummers among these people he +had passed; much of their misery was of their own making (he had made +much of his), but the wonder was they were no worse.</p> + +<p>Bold, bad faces, cold, pinched, hungry ones, eager, earnest, pathetic +and joyous, worn and weary, burdened and care-free, they again passed +before him, misty and ill-defined, as though the snow still veiled and +made them hazy, and none of them he knew. He wished they would stop +passing. He was very tired. They, too, were tired. Would they for +ever be passing before him, these people, these little children, he +had seen to-day? If they would go away he could think more clearly, +could think of Frances. She was here, in the house with him. At first +it had seemed strange, but it wasn't strange. It would be strange if +she were not here when he needed her, wanted her so. To-morrow would +not be too late. One could do a good deal on Christmas eve. Everybody +had been busy except himself. He would telephone to-morrow and tell +Herrick to close the office and give Miss Davis holiday until after +New-Year.</p> + +<p>But she had nowhere to go. He had heard her tell Herrick so, and +Herrick had nowhere to go, either. Both lived in boarding-houses, he +supposed. He had never thought to ask. Herrick was a faithful old +plodder—never would be anything else—but he couldn't get on without +him. He ought to raise his salary. Why didn't Herrick ask for more +money if he wanted it? And then he could get married. Why didn't he +get married, anyhow? Once or twice he had seen him talking to Miss +Davis about something that evidently wasn't business. She was a pretty +little thing and quick as lightning—just the opposite of old +Herrick. Wouldn't it be funny if they were in love; not, of course, +like—</p> + +<p>They had nowhere to go Christmas. If Frances would let them they might +come here—no, not here, but at his home, their home. His home was +Frances's. It wouldn't be home for him if it weren't for her also. He +would ask her. And Carmencita and her blind father, they could come, +too. It would be horrible to have a Christmas dinner of sardines or +toasted cheese and crackers—or one in a boarding-house. Other people +might think it queer that he should have accidentally met Carmencita, +and that Carmencita should have mentioned the name of Miss Barbour, +and that he should have walked miles and miles—it must have been +thousands of miles—trying to find her, and, after all, did not find +her. She found him. But it wasn't queer. He had been looking for her +ever since—for three years he had been looking for her, and what one +looks for long enough one always finds. +To-morrow—to-morrow—would—be—Christmas eve.</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes slowly. The sun was blinding, and he blinked. +Mother McNeil and the doctor were standing at the foot of the bed, +and as he rubbed his eyes they laughed.</p> + +<p>"It's a merry Christmas you're to have, my son, after all, and it's +wanting to be up and after it you are, if I'm a judge of looks." And +Van Landing's hand, holding the coverlid close to his neck, was patted +understandingly by Mother McNeil. "Last night the doctor was a bit +worried about your head—you took your time in coming to—but I didn't +believe it was as bad as he feared, and it's well it wasn't, for it's +a grand day in which to be living, and you'll need your head. Is it +coffee or tea, now, that you like best for breakfast? And an egg and a +bit of toast, doctor, I think will taste well. I'll get them." And +without answer Mother McNeil was gone.</p> + +<p>The doctor sat down, felt his patient's pulse, took his temperature, +investigated the cut on the forehead, then got up. "You're all right." +His tone was one of gruff relief. "One inch nearer your temple, +however—You can get up if you wish. Good day." And he, too, was gone +before Van Landing could ask a question or say a word of thanks.</p> + +<p>It was bewildering, perplexing, embarrassing, and for a moment he +hesitated. Then he got up. He was absurdly shaky, but his head was +clear, and in his heart humility that was new and sweet. The day was +great, and the sun was shining as on yesterday one would not have +dreamed it could ever shine again. Going over to the door, he locked +it and hurriedly began to dress. His clothes had a rough, dry +appearance that made them hardly recognizable, and to get on his +shoes, which evidently had been dried near the furnace, was difficult. +In the small mirror over the bureau, as he tied his cravat, his face +reflected varying emotions: disgust at his soiled collar, relief that +he was up again, and gratitude that made a certain cynicism, of late +becoming too well defined, fade into quiet purpose.</p> + +<p>Unlocking the door, he went back to the window and looked across at +the long row of houses, as alike as shriveled peas in a dry pod, and +down on the snow-covered streets. Brilliantly the sun touched here and +there a bit of cornice below a dazzling gleaming roof, and threw rays +of rainbow light on window-pane and iron rail, outlined or hidden +under frozen foam; and the dirt and ugliness of the usual day were +lost in the white hush of mystery.</p> + +<p>Not for long would there be transforming effect of the storm, +however. Already the snow was being shoveled from door-steps and +sidewalks, and the laughter of the boys as they worked, the scraping +of their shovels, the rumble of wagon-wheels, which were making deep +brown ruts in the middle of the street, reached him with the muffled +sound of something far away, and, watching, he missed no detail of +what was going on below.</p> + +<p>"Goodness gracious! I've almost cried myself to death! And she found +you—found you!"</p> + +<p>Van Landing turned sharply. The door was open, though he had not heard +the knock, and with a spring Carmencita was beside him, holding his +hands and dancing as if demented with a joy no longer to be held in +restraint.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Van, I've almost died for fear I wouldn't find you in time! +And you're here at Mother McNeil's, and all yesterday I looked and +looked, and I couldn't remember your last name, and neither could +Father. And Miss Frances was away until night, and I never prayed so +hard and looked so hard in my life! Oh, Mr. Van, if you are a +stranger, I love you, and I'm so glad you're found!"</p> + +<p>She stopped for breath, and Van Landing, stooping, lifted Carmencita's +face and kissed it.</p> + +<p>"You are my dear friend, Carmencita." His voice, as his hands, was a +bit shaky. "I, too, am very glad—and grateful. Will you ask her to +come, ask her to let me see her? I cannot wait any longer."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to." Carmencita's eyes were big and blue in sudden +seriousness. "The Little Big Sisters have their tree to-night, and +she's got a million trillion things to do to-day, and she's gone out. +She's awful glad you're better, though. I asked her, and she said she +was. And I asked her why she didn't marry you right straight away, or +to-morrow if she didn't have time to-day, and—"</p> + +<p>"You did what, Carmencita?"</p> + +<p>"That. I asked her that. What's the use of wasting time? I told her +you'd like a wife for a Christmas gift very much, if she was the wife. +Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you really and truly rather have her than +anything else?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing turned and looked out of the window. The child's eyes and +earnest, eager face could not be met in the surge of hot blood which +swept over him, and his throat grew tight. All his theories and ideas +were becoming but confused upheaval in the manipulations of fate, or +what you will, that were bringing strange things to pass, and he no +longer could think clearly or feel calmly. He must get away before he +saw Frances.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>In the voice beside him was shy entreaty and appeal, and, hands +clasped behind her, Carmencita waited.</p> + +<p>"I would." Van Landing made effort to smile, but in his eyes was no +smiling. Into them had come sudden purpose. "I shall ask her to marry +me to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Arms extended to the limit of their length, Carmencita whirled round +and round the room, then, breathless, stopped and, taking Van +Landing's hand, lifted it to her lips.</p> + +<p>"I kiss your hand, my lord, and bring you greetings from your faithful +subjects! I read that in a book. I'll be the subject. Isn't it grand +and magnificent and glorious?" She stopped. "She hasn't any new +clothes. A lady can't get married without new clothes, can she? And +she won't have time to get any on Christmas eve. Whether she'll do it +or not, you'll have to make her, Mr. Van, or you'll lose her again. +You've—got—to—just—make—her!"</p> + +<p>Carmencita's long slender forefinger made a jab in Van Landing's +direction, and her head nodded with each word uttered. But before he +could answer, Mother McNeil, with breakfast on a tray, was in the room +and Carmencita was out.</p> + +<p>Sitting down beside him, as he asked her to do, Van Landing told her +how it happened he was there, told her who he was. Miss Barbour was +under her care. She had once been his promised wife. He was trying to +find her when he fell, or fainted, or whatever it was, that he might +ask her again to marry him. Would she help him?</p> + +<p>In puzzled uncertainty Mother McNeil had listened, fine little folds +wrinkling her usually smooth forehead, and her keen eyes searching the +face before her; then she got up.</p> + +<p>"I might have known it would end like this. Well, why not?" Hands on +her hips, she smiled in the flushed face looking into hers. Van +Landing had risen, and his hands, holding the back of his chair, +twitched badly. "The way of love is the way of life. If she will marry +you—God bless you, I will say. It's women like Frances the work we're +in is needing. But it's women like her that men need, too. She's out, +but she asked me to wish you a very happy Christmas."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII" />CHAPTER XIII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/13.png" width="73" height="120" alt="A" title="" /> +</div><p> very happy Christmas!" Van Landing smiled. "How can I have it +without—When can I see her, Mother McNeil?"</p> + +<p>At the open door Mother McNeil turned. "She has some shopping to do. +Yesterday two more families were turned over to us. Sometimes she gets +lunch at the Green Tea-pot on Samoset Street. She will be home at +four. The children come at eight, and the tree is to be dressed before +they get here." A noise made her look around. "Carmencita,—you are +out of breath, child! It's never you will learn to walk, I'm fearing!"</p> + +<p>Carmencita, who had run down the hall as one pursued, stopped, pulled +up her stocking, and made effort to fasten it to its supporter. +"Christmas in my legs," she said. "Can't expect feet to walk on +Christmas eve. I've got to tell him something, Mother McNeil. Will +you excuse me, please, if I tell him by himself?"</p> + +<p>Coming inside the room, Carmencita pulled Van Landing close to her and +closed the door, and for half a minute paused for breath.</p> + +<p>"It was Her. It was Miss Barbour at the telephone, and she says I must +meet her at the Green Tea-pot at two o'clock and have lunch with her +and tell her about the Barlow babies and old Miss Parker and some +others who don't go to Charities for their Christmas—and she says I +can help buy the things. Glory! I'm glad I'm living!" She stopped. "I +didn't tell her a word about you, but—Have you got a watch?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing looked at his watch, then put it back. "I have a watch, +but no hat. I lost my hat last night chasing Noodles. It's nine +o'clock. I'm going to the Green Tea-pot at two to take lunch also. +Want to go with me?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going with you. You are going with me." Carmencita made +effort to look tall. "That's what I came to tell you. And you can ask +her there. I won't listen. I won't even look, and—"</p> + +<p>Van Landing took up his overcoat, hesitated, and then put it on. "I've +never had a sure-enough Christmas, Carmencita. Why can't I get those +things for the kiddies you spoke of, and save Miss Barbour the +trouble? She has so much to do, it isn't fair to put more on her. +Then, too—"</p> + +<p>"You can have her by yourself after we eat, can't you? Where can you +go?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't thought yet. Where do you suppose? She ought to rest."</p> + +<p>"Rest!" Carmencita's voice was shrilly scornful. "Rest—on Christmas +eve. Besides, there isn't a spot to do it in. Every one has bundles in +it." Hands clasped, her forehead puckered in fine folds, then she +looked up. "Is—is it a nice house you live in? It's all right, isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>"It is considered so. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because what's the use of waiting until to-morrow to get married? If +she'll have you you all could stop in that little church near the +Green Tea-pot and the man could marry you, and then she could go on up +to your house and rest while you finished your Christmas things, and +then you could go for her and bring her down here to help fix the +Christmas tree, and to-morrow you could have Christmas at home. +Wouldn't it be grand?" Carmencita was on tiptoe, and again her arms +were flung in the air. Poised as if for flight, her eyes were on the +ceiling. Her voice changed. "The roof of this house leaks. It ought to +be fixed."</p> + +<p>Van Landing opened the door. "Your plan is an excellent one, +Carmencita. I like it immensely, but there's a chance that Miss +Barbour may not agree. Women have ways of their own in matters of +marriage. I do not even know that she will marry me at all."</p> + +<p>"Then she's got mighty little sense, which isn't so, for she's got a +lot. She knows what she wants, all right, and if she likes you she +likes you, and if she don't, she don't, and she don't make out she +does. Did—did you fuss?"</p> + +<p>"We didn't fuss." Van Landing smiled slightly. "We didn't agree about +certain things."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious! You don't want to marry an agree-er, do you? Mrs. +Barlow's one. Everything her husband thinks, she thinks, too, and +sometimes he can't stand her another minute. Where are you going now?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to telephone for a taxi-cab. Then I'm going home to change +my clothes and get a hat, and then I'm going to my office to look +after some matters there; then I'm going with you to do some +shopping, and then I'm going to the Green Tea-pot to meet Miss +Barbour. If you could go with me now it would save time. Can you go?"</p> + +<p>"If I can tell Father first. Wait for me, will you?"</p> + +<p>Around the corner Carmencita flew, and was back as the taxi-cab +stopped at Mother McNeil's door. Getting in, she sat upright and shut +her eyes. Van Landing was saying good-by and expressing proper +appreciation and mentally making notes of other forms of expression to +be made later; and as she waited her breath came in long, delicious +gasps through her half-parted lips. Presently she stooped over and +pinched her legs.</p> + +<p>"My legs," she said, "same ones. And my cheeks and my hair"—the +latter was pulled with vigor—"and my feet and my hands—all me, and +in a taxi-cab going Christmas shopping and maybe to a marriage, and I +didn't know he was living last week! Father says I mustn't speak to +people I don't know, but how can you know them if you don't speak? I +was born lucky, and I'm so glad I'm living that if I was a rooster I'd +crow. Oh, Mr. Van, are you ready?"</p> + +<p>The next few hours to Carmencita were the coming true of dreams that +had long been denied, and from one thrill to another she passed in a +delicious ecstasy which made pinching of some part of her body +continually necessary. While Van Landing dressed she waited in his +library, wandering in wide-eyed awe and on tiptoe from one part of the +room to the other, touching here and there with the tips of her +fingers a book or picture or piece of furniture, and presently in +front of a footstool she knelt down and closed her eyes.</p> + +<p>Quickly, however, she opened them and, with head on the side, looked +around and listened. This wasn't a time to be seen. The silence +assuring, she again shut her eyes very tight and the palms of her +hands, uplifted, were pressed together.</p> + +<p>"Please, dear God, I just want to thank you," she began. "It's awful +sudden and unexpected having a day like this, and I don't guess +to-morrow will be much, not a turkey Christmas or anything like that, +but to-day is grand. I'd say more, but some one is coming. Amen." And +with a scramble she was on her feet, the stool behind her, as Van +Landing came in the room.</p> + +<p>The ride to the office through crowded streets was breathlessly +thrilling, and during it Carmencita did not speak. At the window of +the taxi she pressed her face so closely that the glass had +continually to be wiped lest the cloud made by her breath prevent her +seeing clearly; and, watching her, Van Landing smiled. What an odd, +elfish, wistful little face it was—keen, alert, intelligent, it +reflected every emotion that filled her, and her emotions were many. +In her long, ill-fitting coat and straw hat, in the worn shoes and +darned gloves, she was a study that puzzled and perplexed, and at +thought of her future he frowned. What became of them—these children +with little chance? Was it to try and learn and help that Frances was +living in their midst?</p> + +<p>In his office Herrick and Miss Davis were waiting. Work had been +pretty well cleared up, and there was little to be done, and as Van +Landing saw them the memory of his half-waking, half-dreaming thought +concerning them came to him, and furtively he looked from one to the +other.</p> + +<p>In a chair near the window, hands in her lap and feet on the rounds, +Carmencita waited, her eyes missing no detail of the scene about her, +and at Miss Davis, who came over to talk to her, she looked with +frank admiration. For a moment there was hesitating uncertainty in Van +Landing's face; then he turned to Herrick.</p> + +<p>"Come into the next room, will you, Herrick? I want to speak to you a +minute."</p> + +<p>What he was going to say he did not know. Herrick was such a steady +old chap, from him radiated such uncomplaining patience, about him was +such aloofness concerning his private affairs, that to speak to him on +personal matters was difficult. He handed him cigars and lighted one +himself.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to close the office, Herrick, until after New-Year," he +began. "I thought perhaps you might like to go away."</p> + +<p>"I would." Herrick, whose cigar was unlighted, smiled slightly. "But I +don't think I'll go."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>Herrick hesitated, and his face flushed. He was nearing forty, and his +hair was already slightly gray. "There are several reasons," he said, +quietly. "Until I am able to be married I do not care to go away. She +would be alone, and Christmas alone—"</p> + +<p>"Is—is it Miss Davis, Herrick?" Van Landing's voice was strangely +shy; then he held out his hand. "You're a lucky man, Herrick. I +congratulate you. Why didn't you tell me before; and if you want to +get married, why not? What's the use of waiting? The trip's on me. +Christmas alone—I forgot to say I've intended for some time to raise +your salary. You deserve it, and it was thoughtlessness that made me +put it off." He sat down at his desk and took his check-book out of a +spring-locked drawer and wrote hastily upon it. "That may help to +start things, Herrick, and if there's any other way—"</p> + +<p>In Herrick's astonished face the blood pumped deep and red, and as he +took the check Van Landing put in his hands his fingers twitched +nervously. It was beyond belief that Van Landing should have +guessed—and the check! It would mean the furnishing of the little +flat they had looked at yesterday and hoped would stay unrented for a +few months longer; meant a trip, and a little put aside to add to +their slow savings. Now that his sister was married and his brother +out of school, he could save more, but with this—He tried to speak, +then turned away and walked over to the window.</p> + +<p>"Call her in, Herrick, and let's have it settled. Why not get the +license to-day and be married to-morrow? Oh, Miss Davis!" He opened +the door and beckoned to his stenographer, who was showing Carmencita +her typewriter. "Come in, will you? Never mind. We'll come in there."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV" />CHAPTER XIV</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 74px;"> +<img src="images/14.png" width="74" height="120" alt="M" title="" /> +</div><p>iss Davis, who had risen, stood with one hand on her desk; the other +went to her lips. Something was the matter. What was it?</p> + +<p>"I hope you won't mind Carmencita knowing." Van Landing drew the child +to him. "She is an admirable arranger and will like to help, I'm sure. +Miss Davis and Mr. Herrick are going to be married to-morrow, +Carmencita, and spend their holiday—wherever they choose. Why, Miss +Davis—why, you've never done like this before!"</p> + +<p>Miss Davis was again in her chair, and, with arms on her desk and face +buried in them, her shoulders were making little twitchy movements. +She was trying desperately hard to keep back something that mustn't be +heard, and in a flash Carmencita was on her knees beside her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Davis, I don't know you much, but I'm so glad, and of course +it's awful exciting to get married without knowing you're going to do +it; but you mustn't cry, Miss Davis—you mustn't, really!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not crying." Head up, the pretty brown eyes, wet and shining, +looked first at Herrick and then at Van Landing, and a handkerchief +wiped two quivering lips. "I'm not crying, only—only it's so sudden, +and to-morrow is Christmas, and a boarding-house Christmas—" Again +the flushed face was buried in her arms and tears came hot and +fast—happy, blinding tears.</p> + +<p>Moving chairs around that were not in the way, going to the window and +back again, locking up what did not require locking, putting on his +hat and taking it off without knowing what he was doing, Van Landing, +nevertheless, managed in an incredibly short time to accomplish a good +many things and to make practical arrangements. Herrick and Miss Davis +were to come to his apartment at one o'clock to-morrow and bring the +minister. They would be married at once and have dinner immediately +after with him—and with a friend or two, perhaps. Carmencita and her +father would also be there, and they could leave for a trip as soon as +they wished. They must hurry; there was no time to lose—not a +minute.</p> + +<p>With a few words to the office-boy, the elevator-boy, the janitor, and +additional remembrances left with the latter for the charwoman, the +watchman, and several others not around, they were out in the street +and Carmencita again helped in the cab.</p> + +<p>For a moment there was dazed silence, then she turned to Van Landing. +"Would you mind sticking this in me?" she asked, and handed him a bent +pin. "Is—is it really sure-enough what we've been doing, or am I +making up. Stick hard, please—real hard."</p> + +<p>Van Landing laughed. "No need for the pin." He threw it away. "You're +awake, all right. I've been asleep a long time, and you—have waked +me, Carmencita."</p> + +<p>For two delicious hours the child led and Van Landing followed. In and +out of stores they went with quickness and decision, and soon on the +seat and on the floor of the cab boxes and bundles of many shapes and +sizes were piled, and then Carmencita said there should be nothing +else.</p> + +<p>"It's awful wickedness, Mr. Van, to spend so much." Her head nodded +vigorously. "The children will go crazy, and so will their mothers, +and they'll pop open if they eat some of all the things you've bought +for them, and we mustn't get another one. It's been grand, but—You're +not drunk, are you, Mr. Van, and don't know what you're doing?"</p> + +<p>Her voice trailed off anxiously, and in her eyes came sudden, sober +fear.</p> + +<p>Again Van Landing laughed. "I think perhaps I am drunk, but not in the +way you mean, Carmencita. It's a matter of spirits, however. Something +has gone to my head, or perhaps it's my heart. But I know very well +what I'm doing. There's one thing more. I forgot to tell you. I have a +little friend who has done a good deal for me. I want to get her a +present or two—some clothes and things that girls like. Your size, I +think, would fit her. I'd like—"</p> + +<p>"Is she rich or poor?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing hesitated. "She is rich. She has a wonderful imagination +and can see all sorts of things that others don't see, and her friends +are—"</p> + +<p>"Kings and queens, and fairies and imps, and ghosts and devils. I +know. I've had friends like that. Does she like pink or blue?"</p> + +<p>"I think she likes—blue." Again Van Landing hesitated. Silks and +satins might be Carmencita's choice. Silks and satins would not do. "I +don't mean she has money, and I believe she'd rather have practical +things."</p> + +<p>"No, she wouldn't! Girls hate practical things." The long, loose, +shabby coat was touched lightly. "This is practical. Couldn't she have +one pair of shiny slippers, just one, with buckles on them? Maybe +she's as Cinderellary as I am. I'd rather stick my foot out with a +diamond-buckle slipper on it than eat. I do when my princess friends +call, and they always say: 'Oh, Carmencita, what a charming foot you +have!' And that's it. <i>That</i>!" And Carmencita's foot with it's coarse +and half-worn shoe was held out at full length. "But we've got to +hurry, or we won't be at the Green Tea-pot by two o'clock. Come on."</p> + +<p>With amazing discrimination Carmencita made her purchases, and only +once or twice did she overstep the limitations of practicality and +insist upon a present that could be of little use to its recipient. +For the giving of joy the selection of a pair of shining slippers, a +blue satin sash, and a string of amber beads were eminently suitable, +however, and, watching, Van Landing saw her eyes gleam over the +precious possessions she was supposedly buying for some one else, a +child of her own age, and he made no objection to the selections made.</p> + +<p>"Even if she don't wear them she will have them." And Carmencita drew +a long, deep sigh of satisfaction. "It's so nice to know you have got +something you can peep at every now and then. It's like eating when +you're hungry. Oh, I do hope she'll like them! Is it two, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>It was ten minutes to two, and, putting Carmencita into the +bundle-packed cab, Van Landing ordered the latter to the Green +Tea-pot, then, getting in, leaned back, took off his hat, and wiped +his forehead. Tension seemed suddenly to relax and his heart for a +moment beat thickly; then with a jerk he sat upright. Carmencita was +again absorbed in watching the crowds upon the streets, and, when the +cab stopped, jumped as if awakened from a dream.</p> + +<p>"Are we here already? Oh, my goodness! There she is!"</p> + +<p>Miss Barbour was going in the doorway, and as Van Landing saw the +straight, slender figure, caught the turn of the head, held in the way +that was hers alone, the years that were gone slipped out of memory +and she was his again. His—With a swift movement he was out of the +cab and on the street and about to follow her when Carmencita touched +him on the arm.</p> + +<p>"Let me go first. She doesn't know you're coming. We'll get a table +near the door."</p> + +<p>The crowd separated them, but through it Carmencita wriggled her way +quickly and disappeared. Waiting, Van Landing saw her rush up to Miss +Barbour, then slip in a chair at a table whose occupants were leaving, +and motion Frances to do the same. As the tired little waitress, after +taking off the soiled cloth and putting on a fresh one, went away for +necessary equipment Van Landing opened the door and walked in and to +the table and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"You would not let me thank you this morning. May I thank you now +for—"</p> + +<p>[Illustration: "YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I +THANK YOU NOW FOR—"]</p> + +<p>"Finding him?" Carmencita leaned halfway over the table, and her big +blue eyes looked anxiously at first one and then the other. "He was +looking for you, Miss Frances; he'd been looking all day and all night +because he'd just heard you were somewhere down here, and he's come to +have lunch with us, and—Oh, it's Christmas, Miss Frances, and please +tell him—say something, do something! He's been waiting three +years, and he can't wait another minute. Gracious! that smells good!"</p> + +<p>The savory dish that passed caused a turn in Carmencita's head, and +Frances Barbour, looking into the eyes that were looking into hers, +held out her hand. At sight of Van Landing her face had colored +richly, then the color had left it, leaving it white, and in her eyes +was that he had never seen before.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing for which to thank me." Her voice with its freshness +and sweetness stirred as of old, but it was low. She smiled slightly. +"I am very glad you are all right this morning. I did not know you +knew our part of the town." Her hand was laid on Carmencita's.</p> + +<p>"I didn't until I met your little friend. I had never been in it +before. I know it now very well."</p> + +<p>"And he was so fighting mad because he couldn't see you when I sent +the note that he went out, not knowing where he was or how to get +back, and when his senses came on again and he tried to find out he +couldn't find, and he walked 'most all night and was lost like people +in a desert who go round and round. And the next day he walked all +day long and 'most froze, and he'd passed Mother McNeil's house a +dozen times and didn't know it; and he was chasing Noodles and just +leaning against that railing when the cop came and you came. Oh, Miss +Frances, it's Christmas! Won't you please make up and—When are we +going to eat?"</p> + +<p>Miss Barbour's hand closed over Carmencita's twisting ones, and into +her face again sprang color; then she laughed. "We are very hungry, +Mr. Van Landing. Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?"</p> + +<p>An hour later Carmencita leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap +and eyes closed. Presently one hand went out. "Don't ask me anything +for a minute, will you? I've got to think about something. When you're +ready to go let me know."</p> + +<p>Through the meal Carmencita's flow of words and flow of spirits had +saved the silences that fell, in spite of effort, between Van Landing +and Miss Barbour, and under the quiet poise so characteristic of her +he had seen her breath come unsteadily. Could he make her care for him +again? With eyes no longer guarded he looked at her, leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"From here," he said, "where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Home. I mean to Mother McNeil's. Carmencita says you and she have +done my shopping." She smiled slightly and lifted a glass of water to +her lips. "The tree is to be dressed this afternoon, and to-night the +children come."</p> + +<p>"And I—when can I come?"</p> + +<p>"You?" She glanced at Carmencita, who was now sitting with her chin on +the back of her chair, arms clasping the latter, watching the strange +and fascinating scene of people ordering what they wanted to eat and +eating as much of it as they wanted. "I don't know. I am very busy. +After Christmas, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"You mean for me there is to be no Christmas? Am I to be for ever kept +outside, Frances?"</p> + +<p>"Outside?" She looked up and away. "I have no home. We are +both—outside. To have no home at Christmas is—" Quickly she got up. +"We must go. It is getting late, and there is much to do."</p> + +<p>For one swift moment she let his eyes hold hers, and in his burned all +the hunger of the years of loss; then, taking up her muff, she went +toward the door. On the street she hesitated, then held out her hand. +"Good-by, Mr. Van Landing. I hope you will have a happy Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" Van Landing opened the cab door. "Get in, please. I will +come in another cab." Stooping, he pushed aside some boxes and bundles +and made room for Carmencita. "I'll be around at four to help dress +the tree. Wait until I come." He nodded to the cabman; then, lifting +his hat, he closed the door with a click and, turning, walked away.</p> + +<p>"Carmencita! oh, Carmencita!" Into the child's eyes the beautiful ones +of her friend looked with sudden appeal, and the usually steady hands +held those of Carmencita with frightened force. "What have you done? +What have you done?"</p> + +<p>"Done?" Carmencita's fingers twisted into those of her beloved, and +her laugh was joyous. "Done! Not much yet. I've just begun. Did—did +you know you were to have a grand Christmas present, Miss Frances? You +are. It's—it's alive!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV" />CHAPTER XV</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 72px;"> +<img src="images/15.png" width="72" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><p>he time intervening before his return to help with the tree was spent +by Van Landing in a certain establishment where jewels were kept and +in telephoning Peterkin; and the orders to Peterkin were many. At four +o'clock he was back at Mother McNeil's.</p> + +<p>In the double parlor of the old-fashioned house, once the home of +wealth and power, the tree was already in place, and around it, in +crowded confusion, were boxes and barrels, and bundles and toys, and +clothes and shoes, and articles of unknown name and purpose, and for a +moment he hesitated. Hands in his pockets, he looked first at Mother +McNeil and then at a little lame boy on the floor beside an open +trunk, out of which he was taking gaily-colored ornaments and +untangling yards of tinsel; and then he looked at Frances, who, with a +big apron over her black dress, with its soft white collar open at the +throat, was holding a pile of empty stockings in her hands.</p> + +<p>"You are just in time, my son." Mother McNeil beamed warmly at the +uninvited visitor. "When a man can be of service, it's let him serve, +I say, and if you will get that step-ladder over there and fix this +angel on the top of the tree it will save time. Jenkins has gone for +more tinsel and more bread. We didn't intend at first to have +sandwiches and chocolate—just candy and nuts and things like +that—but it's so cold and snowy Frances thought something good and +hot would taste well. You can slice the bread, Mr. Van Landing. Four +sandwiches apiece for the boys and three for the girls are what we +allow." She looked around. "Hand him that angel, Frances, and show him +where to put it. I've got to see about the cakes."</p> + +<p>Never having fastened an angel to the top of a tree, for a half-moment +Van Landing was uncertain how to go about it, fearing exposure of +ignorance and awkwardness; then with a quick movement he was up the +ladder and looking down at the girl who was handing him a huge paper +doll dressed in the garments supposedly worn by the dwellers of +mansions in the sky, and as he took it he laughed.</p> + +<p>"This is a very worldly-looking angel. She apparently enjoys the +blowing of her trumpet. Stand off, will you, and see if that's right?" +Van Landing fastened the doll firmly to the top of the tree. "Does she +show well down there?"</p> + +<p>It was perfectly natural that he should be here and helping. True, he +had never heard of Mother McNeil and her home until two nights before, +never had dressed a Christmas tree before, or before gone where he was +not asked, but things of that sort no longer mattered. What mattered +was that he had found Frances, that it was the Christmas season, and +he was at last learning the secret of its hold on human hearts and +sympathies. There was no time to talk, but as he looked he watched, +with eyes that missed no movement that she made, the fine, fair face +that to him was like no other on earth, and, watching, he wondered if +she, too, wondered at the naturalness of it all.</p> + +<p>The years that had passed since he had seen her had left their +imprint. She had known great sorrow, also she had traveled much, and, +though about her were the grace and courage of old, there was +something else, something of nameless and compelling appeal, and he +knew that she, too, knew the loneliness of life.</p> + +<p>Quickly they worked, and greater and greater grew the confusion of +the continually appearing boxes and bundles, and, knee-deep, Mother +McNeil surveyed them, hands on her hips, and once or twice she brushed +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"It's always the way, my son. If you trust people they will not fail +you. When we learn how to understand there will be less hate and more +help in the world. Jenkins, bring that barrel of apples and box of +oranges over here and get a knife for Mr. Van Landing to cut the bread +for the sandwiches. It's time to make them. Matilda, call Abraham in. +He can slice the ham and cheese. There must be plenty. Boys are +hollow. Frances, have you seen my scissors?"</p> + +<p>Out of what seemed hopeless confusion and chaotic jumbling, out of +excited coming and going, and unanswered questions, and slamming of +doors, and hurried searchings, order at last evolved, and, feeling +very much as if he'd been in a football match, Van Landing surveyed +the rooms with a sense of personal pride in their completeness. Around +the tree, placed between the two front windows, were piled countless +packages, each marked, and from the mantelpiece hung a row of bulging +stockings, reinforced by huge mounds of the same on the floor, +guarded already by old Fetch-It. Holly and cedar gave color and +fragrance, and at the uncurtained windows wreaths, hung by crimson +ribbons, sent a welcome to the waiting crowd outside.</p> + +<p>If he were not here he would be alone, with nothing to do. And +Christmas eve alone! He drew in his breath and looked at Frances. In +her face was warm, rich color, and her eyes were gay and bright, but +she was tired. She would deny it if asked. He did not have to ask. If +only he could take her away and let her rest!</p> + +<p>She was going up-stairs to change her dress. Half-way up the steps he +called her, and, leaning against the rail of the banisters, he looked +up at her.</p> + +<p>"When you come down I must see you, Frances—and alone. I shall wait +here for you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot see you alone. There will be no time."</p> + +<p>"Then we must make time. I tell you I must see you." Something in her +eyes made him hesitate. He must try another way. "Listen, Frances. I +want you to do me a favor. There's a young girl in my office, my +stenographer, who is to be married to-morrow to my head clerk. She is +from a little town very far from here and has no relatives, no +intimate friends near enough to go to. She lives in a boarding-house, +and she can't afford to go home to be married. I have asked Herrick to +bring her to my apartment to-morrow and marry her there. I would like +her to have—Carmencita and her father are coming, and I want you to +come, too. It would make things nicer for her. Will you come—you and +Mother McNeil?"</p> + +<p>Over the banisters the beautiful eyes looked down into Van Landing's. +Out of them had gone guarding. In them was that which sent the blood +in hot surge through his heart. "I would love to come, but I am going +out of town to-morrow—going—"</p> + +<p>"Home?" In Van Landing's voice was unconcealed dismay. The glow of +Christmas, new and warm and sweet, died sharply, leaving him cold and +full of fear. "Are you going home?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "I have no home. That is why I am going away +to-morrow. Mother McNeil will have her family here, and I'd be—I'd be +an outsider. It's everybody's home day—and when you haven't a home—"</p> + +<p>She turned and went a few steps farther on to where the stairs +curved, then suddenly she sat down and crumpled up and turned her face +to the wall. With leaps that took the steps two at a time Van Landing +was beside her.</p> + +<p>"Frances!" he said, "Frances!" and in his arms he held her close. +"You've found out, too! Thank God, you've found out, too!"</p> + +<p>Below, a door opened and some one was in the hall. Quickly Frances was +on her feet. "You must not, must not, Stephen—not here!"</p> + +<p>"Goodness gracious! they've done made up."</p> + +<p>At the foot of the steps Carmencita, as if paralyzed with delight, +stood for a moment, then, shutting tight her eyes, ran back whence she +came; at the door she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Carmencita! Carmencita!" It was Van Landing's voice. She turned her +head. "Come here, Carmencita. I have something to tell you."</p> + +<p>Eyes awed and shining, Carmencita came slowly up the steps. Reaching +them, with a spring she threw her arms around her dear friend's neck +and kissed her lips again and again and again, then held out her hands +to the man beside her. "Is—is it to be to-morrow, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>"It is to be to-morrow, Carmencita."</p> + +<p>For a half-moment there was quivering silence; then Van Landing spoke +again. "There are some things I must attend to to-night. Early +to-morrow I will come for you, Frances, and in Dr. Pierson's church we +will be married. Herrick and Miss Davis are coming at one o'clock, and +my—wife must be there to receive them. And you, too, Carmencita—you +and your father. We are going to have—" Van Landing's voice was +unsteady. "We are going to have Christmas at home, Frances. Christmas +at home!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI" />CHAPTER XVI</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/16.png" width="73" height="120" alt="L" title="" /> +</div><p>ifting herself on her elbow, Carmencita listened. There was no sound +save the ticking of the little clock on the mantel. For a moment she +waited, then with a swift movement of her hand threw back the covering +on the cot, slipped from it, and stood, barefooted, in her nightgown, +in the middle of the floor. Head on the side, one hand to her mouth, +the other outstretched as if for silence from some one unseen, she +raised herself on tiptoe and softly, lightly, crossed the room to the +door opening into the smaller room wherein her father slept. Hand on +the knob, she listened, and, the soft breathing assuring her he was +asleep, she closed the door, gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, and +hurried back to the cot, close to which she sat down, put on her +stockings, and tied on her feet a pair of worn woolen slippers, once +the property of her prudent and practical friend, Miss Cattie Burns. +Slipping on her big coat over her gown, she tiptoed to the mantel, +lighted the candle upon it, and looked at the clock.</p> + +<p>"Half past twelve," she said, "and Father's stocking not filled yet!"</p> + +<p>As she got down from the chair on which she had stood to see the hour +her foot caught in the ripped hem of her coat. She tripped, and would +have fallen had she not steadied herself against the table close to +the stove, and as she did so she laughed under her breath.</p> + +<p>"Really this kimono is much too long." She looked down on the loosened +hem. "And I oughtn't to wear my best accordion-pleated pale-blue crêpe +de Chine and shadow lace when I am so busy. But dark-gray things are +so unbecoming, and, besides, I may have a good deal of company +to-night. The King of Love and the Queen of Hearts may drop in, and I +wouldn't have time to change. Miss Lucrecia Beck says I'm going to +write a book when I'm big, I'm so fond of making up and of +love-things. She don't know I've written one already. If he hadn't +happened to be standing on that corner looking so—so—I don't know +what, exactly, but so something I couldn't help running down and +asking him to come up—I never would have had the day I've had to-day +and am going to have to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Stooping, she pinned the hem of her coat carefully, then, stretching +out her arms, stood on her tiptoes and spun noiselessly round and +round. "Can't help it!" she said, as if to some one who objected. "I'm +so glad I'm living, so glad I spoke to him, and know him, that I'm +bound to let it out. Father says I mustn't speak to strangers; but I'd +have to be dead not to talk, and I didn't think about his being a man. +He looked so lonely."</p> + +<p>With quick movements a big gingham apron was tied over the bulky coat, +and, putting the candle on the table in the middle of the room, +Carmencita began to move swiftly from cot to cupboard, from chairs to +book-shelves, and from behind and under each bundles and boxes of +varying sizes were brought forth and arrayed in rows on the little +table near the stove. As the pile grew bigger so did her eyes, and in +her cheeks, usually without color, two spots burned deep and red. +Presently she stood off and surveyed her work and, hands clasped +behind, began to count, her head nodding with each number.</p> + +<p>"Thirteen big ones and nineteen little ones," she said, "and I don't +know a thing that's in one of them. Gracious! this is a nice world to +live in! I wonder what makes people so good to me? Mrs. Robinsky +brought up those six biggest ones to-night." Lightly her finger was +laid on each. "She said they were left with her to be sent up +to-morrow morning, but there wouldn't be a thing to send if she +waited, as the children kept pinching and poking so to see what was in +them. I'd like to punch myself. Noodles gave me that." Her head nodded +at a queer-shaped package wrapped in brown paper and tied with green +cord. "He paid nineteen cents for it. He told me so. I didn't pay but +five for what I gave him. He won't brush his teeth or clean his +finger-nails, and I told him I wasn't going to give him a thing if he +didn't, but I haven't a bit of hold-out-ness at Christmas. I wonder +what's in that?"</p> + +<p>Cautiously her hand was laid on a box wrapped in white tissue-paper +and tied with red ribbons. "I'll hate to open it and see, it looks so +lovely and Christmasy, but if I don't see soon I'll die from wanting +to know. It rattled a little when I put it on the table. It's Miss +Frances's present, and I know it isn't practical. She's like I am. She +don't think Christmas is for plain and useful things. She thinks it's +for pleasure and pretty ones. I wonder—" Her hands were pressed to +her breast, and on tiptoes she leaned quiveringly toward the table. "I +wonder if it could be a new tambourine with silver bells on it! If it +is I'll die for joy, I'll be so glad! I broke mine to-night. I shook +it so hard when I was dancing after I got home from the tree +that—Good gracious! I've caught my foot again! These diamond buckles +on my satin slippers are always catching the chiffon ruffles on my +petticoats. I oughtn't to wear my best things when I'm busy, but I +can't stand ugly ones, even to work in. Mercy! it's one o'clock, and +the things for Father's stocking aren't out yet."</p> + +<p>Out of the bottom drawer of the old-fashioned chest at the end of the +room a box was taken and laid on the floor near the stove, into which +a small stick of wood was put noiselessly, and carefully Carmencita +sat down beside it. Taking off the top of the box, she lifted first a +large-size stocking and held it up.</p> + +<p>"I wish I was one hundred children's mother at Christmas and had a +hundred stockings to fill! I mean, if I had things to fill them with. +But as I'm not a mother, just a daughter, I'm thankful glad I've got +a father to fill a stocking for. He's the only child I've got. If he +could just see how beautiful and red this apple is, and how yellow +this orange, and what a darling little candy harp <i>this</i> is, I'd be +thankfuler still. But he won't ever see. The doctor said so—said I +must be his eyes."</p> + +<p>One by one the articles were taken out of the box and laid on the +floor; and carefully, critically, each was examined.</p> + +<p>"This cravat is an awful color." Carmencita's voice made an effort to +be polite and failed. "Mr. Robinsky bought it for father himself and +asked me to put it in his stocking, but I hate to put. I'll have to do +it, of course, and father won't know the colors, but what on earth +made him get a green-and-red plaid? Now listen at me! I'm doing just +what Miss Lucrecia does to everything that's sent her. The only +pleasure she gets out of her presents is making fun of them and +snapping at the people who send them. She's an awful snapper. The +Damanarkist sent these cigars. They smell good. He don't believe in +Christmas, but he sent Father and me both a present. I hope he'll like +the picture-frame I made for his mother's picture. His mother's dead, +but he believed in her. She was the only thing he did believe in. A +man who don't believe in his mother—Oh, <i>my</i> precious mother!"</p> + +<p>With a trembling movement the little locket was taken from the box and +opened and the picture in it kissed passionately; then, without +warning, the child crumpled up and hot tears fell fast over the +quivering face. "I do want you, my mother! Everybody wants a mother at +Christmas, and I haven't had one since I was seven. Father tries to +fill my stocking, but it isn't a mother-stocking, and I just ache and +ache to—to have one like you'd fix. I want—" The words came +tremblingly, and presently she sat up.</p> + +<p>"Carmencita Bell, you are a baby. Behave—your—self!" With the end of +the gingham apron the big blue eyes were wiped. "You can't do much in +this world, but you can keep from crying. Suppose Father was to know." +Her back straightened and her head went up. "Father isn't ever going +to know, and if I don't fill this stocking it won't be hanging on the +end of the mantelpiece when he wakes up. The locket must go in the +toe."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII" />CHAPTER XVII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 75px;"> +<img src="images/17.png" width="75" height="120" alt="I" title="" /> +</div><p>n half an hour the stocking, big and bulging, was hung in its +accustomed place, the packages for her father put on a chair by +themselves, and those for her left on the table, and as she rearranged +the latter something about the largest one arrested her attention, +and, stopping, she gazed at it with eyes puzzled and uncertain.</p> + +<p>It looked—Cautiously her fingers were laid upon it. Undoubtedly it +looked like the box in which had been put the beautiful dark-blue coat +she had bought for the little friend of her friend. And that other box +was the size of the one the two dresses had been put in; and that was +a hat-box, and that a shoe-box, and the sash and beads and gloves and +ribbons, all the little things, had been put in a box that size. Every +drop of blood surged hotly, tremblingly, and with eyes staring and +lips half parted her breath came unsteadily.</p> + +<p>In the confusion of their coming she had not noticed when Mrs. +Robinsky had brought them up and put them under the cot, with the +injunction that they were not to be opened until the morning, and for +the first time their familiarity was dawning on her. Could it +be—could <i>she</i> be the little friend he had said was rich? She wasn't +rich. He didn't mean money-rich, but she wasn't any kind of rich; and +she had been so piggy.</p> + +<p>Hot color swept over her face, and her hands twitched. She had told +him again and again she was getting too much, but he had insisted on +her buying more, and made her tell him what little girls liked, until +she would tell nothing more. And they had all been for her. For her, +Carmencita Bell, who had never heard of him three days before.</p> + +<p>In the shock of revelation, the amazement of discovery, the little +figure at the table stood rigid and upright, then it relaxed and with +a stifled sob Carmencita crossed the room and, by the side of her cot, +twisted herself into a little knot and buried her face in her arms and +her arms in the covering.</p> + +<p>"I didn't believe! I didn't believe!"</p> + +<p>Over and over the words came tremblingly. "I prayed and prayed, but I +didn't believe! He let it happen, and I didn't believe!"</p> + +<p>For some moments there were queer movements of twitching hands and +twisting feet by the side of the cot, but after a while a +tear-stained, awed, and shy-illumined face looked up from the arms in +which it had been hidden and ten slender fingers intertwined around +the knees of a hunched-up little body, which on the floor drew itself +closer to the fire.</p> + +<p>It was a wonderful world, this world in which she lived. Carmencita's +eyes were looking toward the window, through which she could see the +shining stars. Wonderful things happened in it, and quite beyond +explaining were these things, and there was no use trying to +understand. Two days ago she was just a little girl who lived in a +place she hated and was too young to go to work, and who had a blind +father and no rich friends or relations, and there was nothing nice +that could happen just so.</p> + +<p>"But things don't happen just so. They happen—don't anybody know how, +I guess." Carmencita nodded at the stars. "I've prayed a good many +times before and nothing happened, and I don't know why all this +beautifulness should have come to me, and Mrs. Beckwith, who is good +as gold, though a poor manager with babies, shouldn't ever have any +luck. I don't understand, but I'm awful thankful. I wish I could let +God know, and the Christ-child know, how thankful I am. Maybe the way +they'd like me to tell is by doing something nice for somebody else. I +know. I'll ask Miss Parker to supper Christmas night. She's an awful +poky person and needs new teeth, but she says she's so sick of mending +pants, she wishes some days she was dead. And I'll ask the +Damanarkist. He hasn't anywhere to go, and he hates rich people so +it's ruined his stomach. Hate is an awful ruiner."</p> + +<p>For some moments longer Carmencita sat in huddled silence, then +presently she spoke again.</p> + +<p>"I didn't intend to give Miss Cattie Burns anything. I've tried to +like Miss Cattie and I can't. But it was very good in her to send us a +quarter of a cord of wood for a Christmas present. She can't help +being practical. I'll take her that red geranium to-morrow. I raised +it from a slip, and I hate to see it go, but it's all I've got to +give. It will have to go.</p> + +<p>"And to-morrow. I mean to-day—this is Christmas day! Oh, a happy +Christmas, everybody!" Carmencita's arms swung out, then circled +swiftly back to her heart. "For everybody in all the world I'd make it +happy if I could! And I'm going to a wedding to-day—a wedding! I +don't wonder you're thrilly, Carmencita Bell!"</p> + +<p>For a half-moment breath came quiveringly from the parted lips, then +again at the window and the stars beyond the little head nodded.</p> + +<p>"But I'll never wonder at things happening any more. I'll just wonder +at there being so many nice people on this earth. All are not nice. +The Damanarkist says there is a lot of rot in them, a lot of meanness +and cheatingness, and nasty people who don't want other people to do +well or to get in their way; but there's bound to be more niceness +than nastiness, or the world couldn't go on. It couldn't without a lot +of love. It takes a lot of love to stand life. I read that in a book. +Maybe that's why we have Christmas—why the Christ-child came."</p> + +<p>Shyly the curly head was bent on the upraised knees, and the palms of +two little hands were uplifted. "O God, all I've got to give is love. +Help me never to forget, and put a lot in my heart so I'll always +have it ready. And I thank You and thank You for letting such grand +things happen. I didn't dream there'd really be a marriage when I +asked You please to let it be if you could manage it; but there's +going to be two, and I'm going to both. I've got a new dress to wear, +and slippers with buckles, and amber beads, and lots of other things. +And most of all I thank You for Mr. Van and Miss Frances finding each +other. And please don't let them ever lose each other again. They +might, even if they are married, if they don't take care. Please help +them to take care, for Christ's sake. Amen."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On her feet, Carmencita patted the stocking hanging from the mantel, +took off the big coat, kicked the large, loose slippers across the +room, blew out the candle, and stood for a moment poised on the tip of +her toes.</p> + +<p>"If I could"—the words came breathlessly—"if I could I'd dance like +the lady I was named for, but it might wake Father. I mustn't wake +Father. Good night, everybody—and a merry Christmas to all this nice, +big world!"</p> + +<p>With a spring that carried her across the room Carmencita was on her +cot and beneath its covering, which she drew up to her face. Under +her breath she laughed joyously, and her arms were hugged to her +heart.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow—I mean to-day—I am going to tell them. They don't +understand yet. They think it was just an accident." She shook her +head. "It wasn't an accident. After they're married I'm going to tell +them. Tell them how it happened."</p> + +<h2>THE END</h2> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14723 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/14723-h/images/01.png b/14723-h/images/01.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..284209c --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/01.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/02.png b/14723-h/images/02.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9b95cc --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/02.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/03.png b/14723-h/images/03.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9394123 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/03.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/04.png b/14723-h/images/04.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fc138ac --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/04.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/05.png b/14723-h/images/05.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a2087a --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/05.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/06.png b/14723-h/images/06.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..54055d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/06.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/07.png b/14723-h/images/07.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..20be8eb --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/07.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/08.png b/14723-h/images/08.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..40c3338 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/08.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/09.png b/14723-h/images/09.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..612e14a --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/09.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/10.png b/14723-h/images/10.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cfbcc79 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/10.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/11.png b/14723-h/images/11.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5a6aaf --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/11.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/12.png b/14723-h/images/12.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fce4a95 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/12.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/13.png b/14723-h/images/13.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a9df19 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/13.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/14.png b/14723-h/images/14.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..40ade3b --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/14.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/15.png b/14723-h/images/15.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..34517d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/15.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/16.png b/14723-h/images/16.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..311aa9e --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/16.png diff --git a/14723-h/images/17.png b/14723-h/images/17.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa3e699 --- /dev/null +++ b/14723-h/images/17.png diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c528a87 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #14723 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14723) diff --git a/old/14723-h.zip b/old/14723-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5db168b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14723-h.zip diff --git a/old/14723-h/14723-h.htm b/old/14723-h/14723-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..03136b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14723-h/14723-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3943 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of How It Happened, by Kate Langley Bosher. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; margin-right: .2em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of How It Happened, by Kate Langley Bosher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: How It Happened + +Author: Kate Langley Bosher + +Release Date: January 17, 2005 [EBook #14723] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOW IT HAPPENED *** + + + + +Produced by Stephen Schulze and the Online Distributed Proofreaders Team + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>HOW IT HAPPENED</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>KATE LANGLEY BOSHER</h2> + +<p class="center"><br />AUTHOR OF</p> + +<p class="center">THE MAN IN LONELY LAND,<br /> +MARY CARY, ETC<br /><br /></p> + +<p class="center">ILLUSTRATED<br /></p> + + +<p class="center">PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 1914<br /><br /></p> + + +<p class="center">TO +MY FAITHFUL FRIEND<br /> +ARIADNE ELIZABETH VAUGHAN LATHAM +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<p class="center"> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII</b></a><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<p class="center">"WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR TOASTED CHEESE +ON TOAST?"</p> + +<p class="center">"YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I THANK YOU NOW +FOR—"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>HOW IT HAPPENED</h1> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I" />CHAPTER I</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 74px;"> +<img src="images/01.png" width="74" height="120" alt="H" title="H" /> +</div><p>ead on the side and chin uptilted, she held it at arm's-length, +turning it now in one direction, now in another, then with +deliberation she laid it on the floor.</p> + +<p>"I have wanted to do it ever since you were sent me; now I am going +to."</p> + +<p>Hands on hips, she looked down on the high-crown, narrow-brim hat of +stiff gray felt which was at her feet, and nodded at it with firmness +and decision. "It's going to be my Christmas present to +myself—getting rid of you. Couldn't anything give me as much pleasure +as smashing you is going to give. Good-by—"</p> + +<p>Raising her right foot, Carmencita held it poised for a half-moment +over the hated hat, then with long-restrained energy she brought it +down on the steeple-crown and crushed it into shapelessness. "I wish +she could see you now." Another vigorous punch was given, then with a +swift movement the battered bunch of dull grayness, with its yellow +bird and broken buckle of tarnished steel, was sent in the air, and as +it landed across the room the child laughed gaily, ran toward it, and +with the tip of her toes tossed it here and there. Sending it now up +to the ceiling, now toward the mantel, now kicking it over the table, +and now to the top of the window, she danced round and round the room, +laughing breathlessly. Presently she stooped, picked it up, stuck it +on her head, and, going to the stove, opened its top, and with a shake +of her curls dropped the once haughty and now humbled head-gear in the +fire and watched it burn with joyous satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"The first time she wore it we called her Coachman Cattie, it was so +stiff and high and hideous, and nobody but a person like her would +ever have bought it. I never thought it would some day come to me. +Some missioners are nice, some very nice, but some—"</p> + +<p>With emphasis the lid of the stove was put back, and, going to the +table in the middle of the room, Carmencita picked up the contents of +the little work-basket, which had been knocked over in her rushing +round, and put them slowly in place. "Some missioners seem to think +because you're poor everything God put in other people's hearts and +minds and bodies and souls He left out of you. Of course, if you +haven't a hat you ought to be thankful for any kind." The words came +soberly, and the tiniest bit of a quiver twisted the lips of the +protesting mouth. "You oughtn't to know whether it is pretty or ugly +or becoming or—You ought just to be thankful and humble, and I'm not +either. I don't like thankful, humble people; I'm afraid of them."</p> + +<p>Leaving the table where for a minute she had jumbled needles and +thread and scissors and buttons in the broken basket, she walked +slowly over to the tiny mirror hung above a chest of drawers, and on +tiptoes nodded at the reflection before her—nodded and spoke to it.</p> + +<p>"You're a sinner, all right, Carmencita Bell, and there's no natural +goodness in you. You hate hideousness, and poorness, and other +people's cast-offs, and emptiness in your stomach, and living on the +top floor with crying babies and a drunken father underneath, and +counting every stick of wood before you use it. And you get furious +at times because your father is blind and people have forgotten about +his beautiful music, and you want chicken and cake when you haven't +even enough bacon and bread. You're a sinner, all right. If you were +in a class of them you would be at the head. It's the only thing you'd +ever be at the head of. You know you're poverty-poor, and still you're +always fighting inside, always making out that it is just for a little +while. Why don't you—"</p> + +<p>The words died on her lips, and suddenly the clear blue eyes, made for +love and laughter and eager for all that is lovely in life, dimmed +with hot tears, and with a half-sob she turned and threw herself face +downward on the rug-covered cot on the opposite side of the room.</p> + +<p>"O God, please don't let Father know!" The words came in tones that +were terrified. "Please don't ever let him know! I wasn't born good, +and I hate bad smells, and dirty things, and ugly clothes, and not +enough to eat, but until I am big enough to go to work please, +<i>please</i> help me to keep Father from knowing! Please help me!"</p> + +<p>With a twisting movement the child curled herself into a little ball, +and for a moment tempestuous sobbing broke the stillness of the room, +notwithstanding the knuckles of two little red hands which were +pressed to the large sweet mouth. Presently she lifted the hem of her +skirt and wiped her eyes, then she got up.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could cry as much as I want to. I never have had a place +convenient to do it all by myself, and there's never time, but it gets +the choked things out and makes you feel much better. I don't often +want to, just sometimes, like before Christmas when you're crazy to do +a lot of things you can't do—and some people make you so mad! If I'd +been born different and not minding ugly things and loving pretty +ones, I wouldn't have hated that hat so. That's gone, anyhow. I've +been wanting to see how high I could kick it ever since Miss Cattie +sent it to me, and now I've done it. I've got a lot of old clothes I'd +like to send to Ballyhack, but I can't send."</p> + +<p>She stopped, smoothed her rumpled dress, and shook back the long loose +curls which had fallen over her face. "I must be getting sorry for +myself. If I am I ought to be spanked. I can't spank, but I can dance. +If you don't head it off quick it goes to your liver. I'll head!"</p> + +<p>With a swift movement Carmencita sprang across the room and from the +mantel took down a once beribboned but now faded and worn tambourine. +"You'd rather cry," she said, under her breath, "but you sha'n't cry. +I won't let you. Dance! Dance! Dance!"</p> + +<p>Aloft the tambourine was shaken, and its few remaining bells broke +gaily on the air as with abandon that was bewildering in grace and +suppleness the child leaped into movement swift and light and amazing +in beauty. Around the room, one arm akimbo, one hand now in the air, +now touching with the tambourine the hard, bare floor, now tossing +back the loose curls, now waving gaily overhead, faster and faster she +danced, her feet in perfect rhythm to the bells; then presently the +tambourine was thrown upon the table, and she stopped beside it, face +flushed, eyes shining, and breath that came in quick, short gasps.</p> + +<p>"That was much better than crying." She laughed. "There isn't much you +can do in this world, Carmencita, but you can dance. You've got to do +it, too, every time you feel sorry for yourself. I wonder if I could +see Miss Frances before I go for Father? I <i>must</i> see her. Must! Those +Beckwith babies have got the croup, and I want to ask her if she +thinks it's awful piggy in me to put all my money, or 'most all, in +Father's present. And I want to ask her—I could ask Miss Frances +things all night. Maybe the reason I'm not a thankful person is I'm so +inquiring. I expect to spend the first hundred years after I get to +heaven asking questions."</p> + +<p>Going over to the mantel, Carmencita looked at the little clock upon +it. "I don't have to go to the wedding-place for father until after +six," she said, slowly, "and I'd like to see Miss Frances before I go. +If I get there by half past five I can see the people get out of their +automobiles and sail in. I wish I could sail somewhere. If I could see +some grandness once and get the smell of cabbage and onions out of my +nose, which I never will as long as the Rheinhimers live underneath +us, I wouldn't mind the other things so much, but there isn't any +chance of grandness coming as high up in the air as this. I wonder if +God has forgot about us! He has so many to remember—"</p> + +<p>With a swift turn of her head, as if listening, Carmencita's eyes grew +shy and wistful, then she dropped on her knees by the couch and buried +her face in her arms. "If God's forgot I'll remind Him," she said, and +tightly she closed her eyes.</p> + +<p>"O God"—the words came eagerly, fervently—"we are living in the +same place, and every day I hope we will get in a better one, but +until we do please help me to keep on making Father think I like it +better than any other in town. I thought maybe You had forgotten where +we were. I'm too little to go to work yet, and that's why we're still +here. We can't pay any more rent, or we'd move. And won't You please +let something nice happen? I don't mean miracles, or money, or things +like that, but something thrilly and exciting and romantic, if You can +manage it. Every day is just the same sort of sameness, and I get so +mad-tired of cooking and cleaning and mending, before school and after +school and nights, that if something don't happen soon I'm afraid +Father will find out what a pretending person I am, and he mustn't +find. It's been much better since I knew Miss Frances. I'm awful much +obliged to You for letting me know her, but she isn't permanent, +Mother McNeil says, and may go away soon. I'm going to try to have a +grand Christmas and be as nice as I can to Mrs. Rheinhimer, but she's +so lazy and dirty it's hard not to tell her so. And if You could let a +nice thing happen for Christmas I hope You will. If it could be a +marriage and I could be bridesmaid I'd like that best, as I've never +been to an inside wedding, just outside on the street. I don't care +for poor marriages. Amen."</p> + +<p>On her feet, Carmencita hesitated, then, going to a closet across the +room, took from its top shelf a shabby straw hat and put it on. "This +was bought for me and fits," she said, as if to some one by her side, +"and, straw or no straw, it feels better than that Coachman Cattie, +which is gone for evermore. Some day I hope I can burn you up, +too"—she nodded to the coat into which she was struggling—"but I +can't do it yet. You're awful ugly and much too big, but you're warm +and the only one I've got. I'll have half an hour before it's time to +go for Father. If Miss Frances is home I can talk a lot in half an +hour."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II" />CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/02.png" width="73" height="120" alt="C" title="" /> +</div><p>armencita knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. After the +third knock she opened the door and, hand on the knob, looked in.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Frances, I was afraid you had gone out! I knocked and +knocked, but you didn't say come in, so I thought I'd look. Please +excuse me!"</p> + +<p>The girl at the sewing-machine, which was close to the window and far +from the door, stopped its running, turned in her chair, and held out +her hand. "Hello, Carmencita! I'm glad it's you and not Miss Perkins. +I wouldn't want Miss Perkins to see me trying to sew, but you can see. +Take off your coat. Is it cold out?"</p> + +<p>"Getting cold." The heavy coat was laid on one chair, and Carmencita, +taking up a half-made gingham dress from another, sat in it and laid +the garment in her lap. "I didn't know you knew how to sew."</p> + +<p>"I don't." The girl at the machine laughed. "Those Simcoe children +didn't have a dress to change in, and I'm practising on some skirts +and waists for them. Every day I'm finding out something else I don't +know how to do. I seem to have been taught a good many things there is +no special need of knowing, and very few I can make use of down here."</p> + +<p>"You didn't expect to come down here when you were learning things, +did you?" Carmencita's eyes were gravely watching the efforts being +made to thread the machine's needle. "I guess when you were a little +girl you didn't know there were things like you see down here. What +made you come here, Miss Frances? You didn't have to. What made you +come?"</p> + +<p>Into the fine fair face color crept slowly, and for a moment a sudden +frown ridged the high forehead from which the dark hair, parted and +brushed back, waved into a loose knot at the back of her head; then +she laughed, and her dark eyes looked into Carmencita's blue ones.</p> + +<p>"Why did I come?" The gingham dress on which she had been sewing was +folded carefully. "I came to find out some of the things I did not +know about. I wasn't of any particular use to anybody else. No one +needed me. I had a life on my hands that I didn't know what to do +with, and I thought perhaps—"</p> + +<p>"You could use it down here? You could use a dozen down here, but you +weren't meant not to get married. Aren't you ever going to get +married, Miss Frances?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly think I will." Frances Barbour got up and pushed the machine +against the wall. "The trouble about getting married is marrying the +right man. One so often doesn't. I wouldn't like to make a mistake." +Again she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Don't see how you could make a mistake. Isn't there some way you can +tell?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Carmencita!" Stooping, the child's face was lifted and +kissed. "I'm not a bit interested in men or marriage. They belong +to—to a long, long time ago. I'm interested now in little girls like +you, and in boys, and babies, and gingham dresses, and Christmas +trees, and night classes, and the Dramatic School for the children who +work, and—"</p> + +<p>"I'm interested in them, too, but I'm going to get married when I'm +big enough. I know you work awful hard down here, but it wasn't what +you were born for. I'm always feeling, right inside me, right +here"—Carmencita's hand was laid on her breast—"that you aren't +going to stay here long, and it makes an awful sink sometimes. You'll +go away and forget us, and get married, and go to balls and parties +and wear satin slippers with buckles on them, and dance, and I'd do +it, too, if I were you. Only—only I wish sometimes you hadn't come. +It will be so much harder when you go away."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not going away." At the little white bureau in the plainly +furnished room of Mother McNeil's "Home," Frances stuck the pins +brought from the machine into the little cushion and nodded gaily to +the child now standing by her side. "I've tried the parties and balls +and—all the other things, and for a while they were very nice; and +then one day I found I was spending all my time getting ready for them +and resting from them, and there was never time for anything else. If +I had died it would not have mattered the least bit that I had lived. +And—"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you have a sweetheart that it mattered to? Not even one?"</p> + +<p>Into hers Carmencita's eyes were looking firmly, and, turning from +them, Frances made effort to laugh; then her face whitened.</p> + +<p>"One can never be sure how much things matter to others, Carmencita. +We can only be sure of how much they matter—to us. But it was +Christmas we were to talk about. It's much nicer to talk about +Christmas. We can't talk very long, for I meet the 'Little Mothers' at +half past six, and after that I—"</p> + +<p>"And I've got to go at half past five to meet Father when he's through +with that wedding up-town, and then we're going shopping. I've got a +lot to talk about. The Beckwith babies are awful sick. I guess it +would be a good thing if they were to die. They are always having +colic and cramps and croup, and they've got a coughing mother and a +lazy father; but they won't die. Some babies never will. Did you know +Mr. Rheinhimer had been on another spree?" Carmencita, feet fastened +in the rounds of her chair, elbows on knees, and chin in the palms of +her hand, nodded affirmatively at the face in front of her. "Worst one +yet. He smashed all the window-panes in the bedroom, and broke two +legs of their best chairs doing it, and threw the basin and pitcher +out of the window. He says he'd give any man living five hundred +dollars, if he had it, if he'd live with his wife a month and not +shake her. She is awful aggravating. She's always in curl papers, and +don't wear corsets, and nags him to death. She says she wishes you'd +send him to a cure or something. And I want to tell you about Father's +present."</p> + +<p>For twenty minutes they talked long and earnestly. Carmencita's list +of names and number of pennies were gone over again and again, and +when at last she got up to go the perplexities of indecision and +adjustment were mainly removed, and she sighed with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I'm very much obliged to you for helping me fix it." The piece of +paper was carefully pinned to the inside of the coat. "I'm not going +to get anything but Father's present to-night. I won't have to go to +school to-morrow, and I want the buying to last as long as possible. +Isn't it funny the way Christmas makes you feel?"</p> + +<p>Carmencita's hands came suddenly together, and, pressing them on her +breast, her eyes grew big and shining. Standing first on one foot and +then on the other, she swayed slightly forward, then gave a leap in +the air.</p> + +<p>"I can't help it, Miss Frances, I really can't! It's something inside +me—something that makes me wish I was all the world's mother! And +I'm so squirmy and thrilly and shivery, thinking of the things I'd do +if I could, that sometimes I'm bound to jump—just bound to! I'm +almost sure something nice is going to happen. Did you ever feel that +way, Miss Frances?"</p> + +<p>"I used to feel that way." The clear dark eyes for a moment turned +from the eager ones of the child. "It's a very nice way to feel. When +one is young—though perhaps it is not so much youth as hope in the +heart, and love, and—"</p> + +<p>"I don't love everybody. I loathe Miss Cattie Burns. She's the very +old dev— I promised Father I wouldn't say even a true mean thing +about anybody for a month, and I've done it twice! I'd much rather +love people, though. I love to love! It makes you feel so nice and +warm and homey. If I had a house I'd have everybody I know—I mean all +the nice everybodies—to spend Christmas with me. Isn't it funny that +at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for—for— I don't know +what for, exactly, but it's something you don't mind so much not +having at other times."</p> + +<p>Carmencita's arms opened to their full length, then circled slowly, +and her hands crossed around her neck. "It's the time to wipe out and +forget things, Father says. It's the home-time and the heart-time +and—" In her voice was sudden anxiety. "You are not going away for +Christmas are you, Miss Frances?"</p> + +<p>"Not for Christmas eve." She hesitated. "I'm not quite sure what I'm +going to do on Christmas day. My people live in different places and +far apart. It is all very different from what it used to be. When one +is alone—"</p> + +<p>She stopped abruptly and, going over to the window, looked down on the +street below; and Carmencita, watching, saw the face turned from hers +twist in sudden pain. For a moment she stood puzzled and helpless. +Something she did not understand was troubling, something in which she +could not help. What was it?</p> + +<p>"You couldn't be alone at Christmas, Miss Frances." Slowly she came +toward the window, and shyly her hand slipped into that of her friend. +"There are too many wanting you. Father and I can't give fine presents +or have a fine dinner, but there wouldn't be words in which to tell +you how thankful we'd be if you'd spend it with us. Would you—would +you come to us, Miss Frances?"</p> + +<p>Into the eager blue eyes looking up the dark eyes looked down, and, +looking, grew misty. "Dear child, I'd come to you if I were here, but +I do not think I'll be here." Her head went up as if impatient with +herself. "I'm going away on Christmas day—going—" She took out her +watch hurriedly and looked at it. "It's after half past five, +Carmencita. You will have to hurry or you won't see the wedding guests +go in. Good-by, dear. Have a good time and tuck away all you see to +tell me later. I will be so busy between now and Christmas, there will +be no time for talking, but after Christmas—Why, you've got on your +straw hat, Carmencita! Where is the winter one Miss Cattie gave you? +She told me she had given you a perfectly good hat that would last a +long time."</p> + +<p>"She did." Carmencita's hands were stuck in the deep pockets of her +long coat, and again her big blue eyes were raised to her friend's. +"It would have lasted for ever if it hadn't got burned up. It fell in +the fire and got burned up." Out in the hall she hesitated, then came +back, opened the door, and put her head in. "It did get burned up, +Miss Frances. I burned it. Good-by."</p> + +<p>Late into the night Frances Barbour sat at her desk in the bare and +poorly furnished room which she now called hers, and wrote letters, +settled accounts, wrapped bundles, assorted packages, and made lists +of matters to be attended to on the next day. When at last through, +with the reaction that comes from overtired body and nerves she leaned +back in her chair and let her hands fall idly in her lap, and with +eyes that saw not looked across at the windows, on whose panes bits of +hail were tapping weirdly. For some minutes thought was held in +abeyance; then suddenly she crossed her arms on the table, and her +face was hidden in them.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Stephen! Stephen!" Under her breath the words came wearily. "We +were so foolish, Stephen; such silly children to give each other up! +All through the year I know, but never as I do at Christmas. And +we—we are each other's, Stephen!" With a proud uplifting of her head +she got up. "I am a child," she said, "a child who wants what it once +refused to have. But until he understood—" Quickly she put out the +light.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III" />CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 72px;"> +<img src="images/03.png" width="72" height="120" alt="H" title="" /> +</div><p>e was ashamed of himself for being ashamed. Why on earth should he +hesitate to tell Peterkin he would dine alone on Christmas day? It was +none of Peterkin's business how he dined, or where, or with whom. And +still he had not brought himself to the point of informing Peterkin, +by his order for dinner at home, that he was not leaving town for the +holidays, that he was not invited to dine with any one else, and that +there was no one he cared to invite to dine with him. It was the 22d +of December, and the custodian in charge of his domestic arrangements +had not yet been told what his plans were for the 25th. He had no +plans.</p> + +<p>He might go, of course, to one of his clubs. But worse than telling +Peterkin that he would dine alone would be the public avowal of having +nowhere to go which dining at the club would not only indicate, but +affirm. Besides, at Christmas a club was ghastly, and the few who +dropped in had a half-shamed air at being there and got out as quickly +as possible. He could go to Hallsboro, but Hallsboro no longer bore +even a semblance to the little town in which he had been born—had, +indeed, become something of a big city, bustling, busy, and new, and +offensively up-to-date; and nowhere else did he feel so much a +stranger as in the place he had once called home. He was but twelve +when his parents moved away, and eight months later died within a week +of each other, and for years he had not been back. Had there been +brothers and sisters—Well, there were no brothers and sisters, and by +this time he should be used to the fact that he was very much alone in +the world.</p> + +<p>Hands in his pockets, Stephen Van Landing leaned back in his chair and +looked across the room at a picture on the wall. He did not see the +picture; he saw, instead, certain things that were not pleasant to +see. No, he would not go to Hallsboro for Christmas.</p> + +<p>Turning off the light in his office and closing the door with +unnecessary energy, Van Landing walked down the hall to the elevator, +then turned away and toward the steps. Reaching the street, he +hesitated as to the car he should take, whether one up-town to his +club or one across to his apartment, and as he waited he watched the +hurrying crowd with eyes in which were baffled impatience and +perplexity. It was incomprehensible, the shopping craze at this season +of the year. He wished there was no such season. Save for his very +young childhood there were few happy memories connected with it, but +only of late, only during the past few years, had the recurrence +awakened within him a sort of horror, its approach a sense of +loneliness that was demoralizing, and its celebration an emptiness in +life that chilled and depressed beyond all reason. Why was it that as +it drew near a feeling of cowardice so possessed him that he wanted to +go away, go anywhere and hide until it was over, go where he could not +see what it meant to others? It was humanity's home-time, and he had +no home. Why—</p> + +<p>"An ass that brays is wiser than the man who asks what can't be +answered," he said, under his breath. "For the love of Heaven, quit +it! Why-ing in a man is as inexcusable as whining in a woman. There's +my car—crowded, of course!"</p> + +<p>For some minutes longer he waited for a car on which there was chance +to get a foothold, then, buttoning his overcoat, put his hands in his +pockets and began the walk to his club. The season had been mild so +far, but a change was coming, and the two days left for Christmas +shopping would doubtless be stormy ones. On the whole, it might be +fortunate. There was a good deal of nonsense in this curious custom of +once a year getting on a giving jag, which was about what Christmas +had degenerated into, and if something could prevent the dementia that +possessed many people at this season it should be welcomed. It had +often puzzled him, the behavior of the human family at this so-called +Christian holiday in which tired people were overworked, poor people +bought what they couldn't afford, and the rich gave unneeded things to +the rich and were given unwanted ones in return. The hands of all +people—all places—had become outstretched. It wasn't the giving of +money that mattered. But what did matter was the hugeness of the habit +which was commercializing a custom whose origin was very far removed +from the spirit of the day.</p> + +<p>With a shrug of his shoulders he shoved his hands deeper down into +his pockets. "Quit again," he said, half aloud. "What do you know of +the spirit of the day?"</p> + +<p>Not only of the spirit of the day did he know little, but of late with +acute conviction it was dawning on him that he knew little of many +other things. Certainly he was getting little out of life. For a +while, after professional recognition had come to him, and with it +financial reward, he had tested society, only to give it up and settle +down to still harder work during the day and his books when the day +was done. The only woman he had ever wanted to marry had refused to +marry him. His teeth came down on his lips. He still wanted her. In +all the world there was but one woman he loved or could love, and for +three years he had not seen her. It was his fault. He was to blame. It +had taken him long to see it, but he saw it now. There had been a +difference of opinion, a frank revealing of opposing points of view, +and he had been told that she would not surrender her life to the +selfishness that takes no part in activities beyond the interests of +her own home. He had insisted that when a woman marries said home and +husband should alone claim her time and heart, and in the multitude +of demands which go into the cultural and practical development of a +home out of a house there would be sufficient opportunity for the +exercise of a woman's brain and ability. He had been such a fool. What +right had he to limit her, or she him? It had all been so silly and +such a waste, such a horrible waste of happiness.</p> + +<p>For she had loved him. She was not a woman to love lightly, as he was +not a man, and hers was the love that glorifies life. And he had lost +it. That is, he had lost her. Three years ago she had broken their +engagement. Two years of this time had been spent abroad. A few months +after their return her mother died and her home was given up. Much of +the time since her mother's death had been spent with her married +sisters, who lived in cities far separated from one another, but not +for some weeks had he heard anything concerning her. He did not even +know where she was, or where she would be Christmas.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Van!"</p> + +<p>The voice behind made him turn. The voice was Bleeker McVeigh's.</p> + +<p>"Where are the wedding garments? Don't mean you're not going!"</p> + +<p>"Going where?" Van Landing fell into step. "Whose wedding?"</p> + +<p>McVeigh lighted a fresh cigarette. "You ought to be hung. I tell you +now you won't be bidden to my wedding. Why did you tell Jockie you'd +come, if you didn't intend to?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing stopped and for a minute stared at the man beside him. "I +forgot this was the twenty-second," he said. "Tell Jock I'm dead. I +wish I were for a week."</p> + +<p>"Ought to be dead." McVeigh threw his match away. "A man who ignores +his fellow-beings as you've ignored yours of late has no right to +live. Better look out. Don't take long to be forgotten. Good night."</p> + +<p>It was true that it didn't take long to be forgotten. He had been +finding that out rather dismally of late, finding out also that a good +many things Frances had told him about himself were true. Her eyes +could be so soft and lovely and appealing; they were wonderful eyes, +but they could blaze as well. And she was right. He was selfish and +conventional and intolerant. That is, he had been. He wished he could +forget her eyes. In all ways possible to a man of his type he had +tried to forget, but forgetting was beyond his power. Jock had loved +half a dozen women and this afternoon he was to be married to his last +love. Were he on Jock's order he might have married. He wasn't on +Jock's order.</p> + +<p>Reaching his club, he started to go up the steps, then turned and +walked away. To go in would provoke inquiry as to why he was not at +the wedding. He took out his watch. It was twenty minutes of the hour +set for the ceremony. He had intended to go, but—Well, he had +forgotten, and was glad of it. He loathed weddings.</p> + +<p>As he reached the building in which was his apartment he again +hesitated and again walked on. An unaccountable impulse led him in the +direction of the house, a few blocks away, in which his friend was to +be married, and as he neared it he crossed the street and in the +darkness of the late afternoon looked with eyes, half mocking, half +amazed, at the long line of limousines which stretched from one end of +the block to the other. At the corner he stopped. For some minutes he +stood looking at the little group of people who made effort to press +closer to the entrance of the awning which stretched from door to +curbing, then turned to go, when he felt a hand touch him lightly on +the arm.</p> + +<p>"If you will come up to the top of the steps you can see much better," +he heard a voice say. "I've seen almost everybody go in. I just ran +down to tell you."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV" />CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 75px;"> +<img src="images/04.png" width="75" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><p>urning, Van Landing looked into the little face upraised to his, then +lifted his hat. She was so enveloped in the big coat which came to her +heels that for half a moment he could not tell whether she was ten or +twenty. Then he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said. "I don't know that I care to see. I don't know +why I stopped."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it is perfectly grand, seeing them is! You can see everything +up there"—a little bare hand was waved behind her in the direction of +the porch—"and nothing down here. And you looked like you wanted to +see. There have been kings and queens, and princes and princesses, and +dukes and duchesses, and sirs, and—" She looked up. "What's the lady +name for sir? 'Tisn't siress, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I believe not." Van Landing laughed. "I didn't know there was so much +royalty in town." "There is. They are royals—that kind of people." +Her hand pointed in the direction of the house from which could be +heard faint strains of music. "They live in palaces, and wave wands, +and eat out of gold plates, and wear silk stockings in the morning, +and—oh, they do everything that's splendid and grand and magnificent +and—"</p> + +<p>"Do you think people are splendid and grand and magnificent because +they live in palaces and wear—"</p> + +<p>"Goodness gracious!" The big blue eyes surveyed the speaker with +uncertainty. "Are you one of them, too?"</p> + +<p>"One what?"</p> + +<p>"Damanarkists. Mr. Leimberg is one. He hates people who live in +palaces and wave wands and have <i>dee</i>-licious things to eat. He don't +believe in it. Mr. Ripple says it's because he's a damanarkist and +very dangerous. Mr. Leimberg thinks men like Mr. Ripple ought to be +tarred and feathered. He says he'd take the very last cent a person +had and give it to blood-suckers like that"—and again the red little +hand was waved toward the opposite side of the street. "Mr. Ripple +collects our rent. I guess it does take a lot of money to live in a +palace, but I'd live in one if I could, though I'd try not to be very +particular about rents and things. And I'd have chicken-pie for dinner +every day and hot oysters for supper every night; and I'd ask some +little girls sometimes to come and see me—that is, I think I would. +But maybe I wouldn't. It's right easy to forget in a palace, I guess. +Oh, look—there's somebody else going in! Hurry, mister, or you won't +see!"</p> + +<p>Following the child up the flight of stone steps, Van Landing stood at +the top and looked across at the arriving cars, whose occupants were +immediately lost to sight in the tunnel, as his new acquaintance +called it, and then he looked at her.</p> + +<p>Very blue and big and wonder-filled were her eyes, and, tense in the +effort to gain the last glimpse of the gorgeously gowned guests, she +stood on tiptoe, leaning forward eagerly, and suddenly Van Landing +picked her up and put her on top of the railing. Holding on to his +coat, the child laughed gaily.</p> + +<p>"Aren't we having a good time?" Her breath was drawn in joyously. +"It's almost as good as being inside. Wouldn't you like to be? I +would. I guess the bride is beautiful, with real diamonds on her +slippers and in her hair, and—" She looked down on Van Landing. "My +father is in there. He goes to 'most all the scrimptious weddings that +have harps to them. He plays on the harp when the minister is saying +the words. Do you think it is going to be a very long wedding?"</p> + +<p>A note of anxiety in the child's voice made Van Landing look at her +more closely, and as she raised her eyes to his something stirred +within him curiously. What an old little face it was! All glow and +eagerness, but much too thin and not half enough color, and the hat +over the loose brown curls was straw.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it will be long." His voice was cheerfully decisive. +"That kind is usually soon over. Most of a wedding's time is taken in +getting ready for it. Did you say your father was over there?"</p> + +<p>The child's head nodded. "They have a harp, so I know they are nice +people. Father can't give lessons any more, because he can't see but +just a teensy, weensy bit when the sun is shining. He used to play on +a big organ, and we used to have oysters almost any time, but that was +before Mother died. Father was awful sick after she died, and there +wasn't any money, and when he got well he was almost blind, and he +can't teach any more, and 'most all he does now is weddings and +funerals. I love him to go to weddings. He makes the others tell him +everything they see, and then he tells me, and we have the grandest +time making out we were sure enough invited, and talking of what we +thought was the best thing to eat, and whose dress was the prettiest, +and which lady was the loveliest—Oh, my goodness! Look there!"</p> + +<p>Already some of the guests were departing; and Van Landing, looking at +his watch, saw it was twenty minutes past six. Obviously among those +present were some who failed to feel the enthusiasm for weddings that +his new friend felt. With a smile he put the watch away, and, placing +the child's feet more firmly on the railing, held her so that she +could rest against his shoulder. She could hardly be more than twelve +or thirteen, and undersized for that, but the oval face was one of +singular intelligence, and her eyes—her eyes were strangely like the +only eyes on earth he had ever loved, and as she settled herself more +comfortably his heart warmed curiously, warmed as it had not done for +years. Presently she looked down at him.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you're a damanarkist." Her voice was joyous. "You're +so nice. Can you see good?"</p> + +<p>"Very good. There isn't much to see. One might if it weren't for +that—"</p> + +<p>"Old tunnel! I don't think they ought to have them if it isn't snowing +or raining. Oh, I do hope Father can come out soon! If I tell you +something will you promise not to tell, not even say it to yourself +out loud?" Her face was raised to his. "I'm going to get Father's +Christmas present to-night. We're going down-town when he is through +over there. He can't see me buy it, and it's something he wants +dreadfully. I've been saving ever since last Christmas. It's going to +cost two dollars and seventy-five cents." The eager voice trailed off +into an awed whisper. "That's an awful lot to spend on something +you're not bound to have, but Christmas isn't like any other time. I +spend millions in my mind at Christmas. Have you bought all your +things, Mr.—Mr.—don't even know your name." She laughed. "What's +your name, Mr. Man?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing hesitated. Caution and reserve were inherent +characteristics. Before the child's eyes they faded.</p> + +<p>"Van Landing," he said. "Stephen Van Landing."</p> + +<p>"Mine is Carmencita. Father named me that because when I was a teensy +baby I kicked my feet so, and loved my tambourine best of all my +things. Have you bought all your Christmas gifts, Mr. Van—I don't +remember the other part."</p> + +<p>"I haven't any to buy—and no one to buy for. That is—"</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" The child turned quickly; in her eyes and voice +incredulity was unrestrained. "I didn't know there was anybody in all +the world who didn't have anybody to buy for! Are you—are you very +poor, Mr. Van? You look very nice."</p> + +<p>"I think I must be very poor." Van Landing fastened his glasses more +securely on his nose. "I'm quite sure of it. It has been long since I +cared to buy Christmas presents. I give a few, of course, but—"</p> + +<p>"And don't you have Christmas dinner at home, and hang up your +stocking, and buy toys and things for children, and hear the music in +the churches? I know a lot of carols. Father taught me. I'll sing one +for you. Want me? Oh, I believe they are coming out! Father said they +wouldn't want him as long as the others. If I lived in a palace and +was a royal lady I'd have a harp longer than anything else, but Father +says it's on account of the food. Food is awful high, and people would +rather eat than hear harps. Oh, there's Father! I must go, Mr. Van. +Thank you ever so much for holding me."</p> + +<p>With a movement that was scientific in its dexterity the child slipped +from Van Landing's arms and jumped from the railing to the porch, and +without so much as a turn of the head ran down the steps and across +the street. Darting in between two large motor-cars, Van Landing saw +her run forward and take the hand of a man who was standing near the +side-entrance of the house in which the wedding had taken place. It +was too dark to distinguish his face, and in the confusion following +the calling of numbers and the hurrying off of guests he felt +instinctively that the man shrank back, as is the way of the blind, +and an impulse to go over and lead him away made him start down the +steps.</p> + +<p>At the foot he stopped. To go over was impossible. He would be +recognized. For half a moment he hesitated. It was his dinner hour, +and he should go home; but he didn't want to go home. The stillness +and orderliness of his handsome apartment was suddenly irritating. It +seemed a piece of mechanism made to go so smoothly and noiselessly +that every element of humanness was lacking in it; and with something +of a shiver he turned down the street and in the direction opposite to +that wherein he lived. The child's eyes had stirred memories that must +be kept down; and she was right. He was a poor man. He had a house, +but no home, and he had no Christmas presents to buy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V" />CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 72px;"> +<img src="images/05.png" width="72" height="120" alt="M" title="" /> +</div><p>r. Van! Mr. Van!"</p> + +<p>He turned quickly. Behind, his new-made acquaintance was making effort +to run, but to run and still hold the hand of her father was +difficult. With a smile he stopped.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Van!" The words came breathlessly. "I was so afraid we would +lose you! Father can't cross quick, and once I couldn't see you. Here +he is, Father." She took Van Landing's hand and laid it in her +father's. "He can tell by hands," she said, "whether you're a nice +person or not. I told him you didn't have anybody, and—"</p> + +<p>Van Landing's hand for a moment lay in the stranger's, then he shook +the latter's warmly and again raised his hat. In the circle of light +caused by the electric lamp near which they stood the blind man's face +could be seen distinctly, and in it was that one sees but rarely in +the faces of men, and in Van Landing's throat came sudden tightening.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, I cannot make her understand, cannot keep her from talking +to strangers!" The troubled voice was of a strange quality for so +shabbily clothed a body, and in the eyes that saw not, and which were +lifted to Van Landing's, was sudden terror. "She believes all people +to be her friends. I cannot always be with her, and some day—"</p> + +<p>"But, Father, you said that whoever didn't have any friends must be +our friend, because—because that's all we can be—just friends. And +he hasn't any. I mean anybody to make Christmas for. He said so +himself. And can't he go with us to-night and see the shops? I know +he's nice, Father. Please, please let him!"</p> + +<p>The look of terrified helplessness which for a moment swept over the +gentle face, wherein suffering and sorrow had made deep impress, but +in which was neither bitterness nor complaint, stirred the heart +within him as not for long it had been stirred, and quickly Van +Landing spoke.</p> + +<p>"It may not be a good plan generally, but this time it was all right," +he said. "She spoke to me because she thought I could not see what +was going on across the street, and very kindly shared her better +position with me. I—" He hesitated. His name would mean nothing to +the man before him. Their worlds were very different worlds. It was +possible, however, that this gentle, shrinking creature, with a face +so spiritualized by life's denials that it shamed him as he looked, +knew more of his, Van Landing's, world than he of the blind man's, and +suddenly, as if something outside himself directed, he yielded to a +strange impulse.</p> + +<p>It was true, what the child had said. He had few friends—that is, +friends in the sense the child meant. Of acquaintances he had many, +very many. At his club, in business, in a rather limited social set, +he knew a number of people well, but friends—If he were to die +to-morrow his going would occasion but the usual comment he had often +heard concerning others. Some years ago he had found himself +continually entertaining what he called his friends, spending foolish +sums of money on costly dinners, and quite suddenly he had quit. As +long as he entertained he was entertained in return, and for some time +after he stopped he still received invitations of many sorts, but in +cynical realization of the unsatisfactoriness of his manner of life +he had given it up, and in its place had come nothing to answer the +hunger of his heart for comradeship and human cheer. His opinion of +life had become unhealthy. As an experience for which one is not +primarily responsible it had to be endured, but out of it he had +gotten little save what men called success; and that, he had long +since found, though sweet in the pursuit, was bitter in achievement if +there was no one who cared—and for his nobody really cared. This +blind man with the shabby clothes and ill-nourished body was richer +than he. He had a child who loved him and whom he loved.</p> + +<p>"It is true what your little girl has told you." Van Landing took off +his glasses and wiped them. "I have no one to make Christmas for, and +if you don't mind I wish you would let me go with you to the shops +to-night. I don't know much about Christmas buying. My presents are +chiefly given in mon—— I mean I don't know any little children."</p> + +<p>"And I know forty billion!" Carmencita's arms were outstretched and +her hands came together with ecstatic emphasis. "If I didn't stop to +blink my eyes between now and Christmas morning I couldn't buy fast +enough to fill all the stockings of the legs I know if I had the money +to buy with. There's Mrs. McTarrens's four, and the six Blickers, and +the ashman's eight, and the Roysters, and little Sallie Simcoe, and +old Mr. Jenkinson, and Miss Becky who mends pants and hasn't any front +teeth, and Mr. Leimberg. I'd get him specs. He has to hold his book +like this"—and the palms of two little red hands were held close to +Carmencita's eyes. "Oh, Father, please let him go!"</p> + +<p>Hesitating, the blind man's eyes were again upturned, and again Van +Landing spoke.</p> + +<p>"You are right to be careful; but you need not fear. My name is Van +Landing, and my office—"</p> + +<p>"You are a gentleman!" Two hands with their long slender fingers were +outstretched, and swiftly they stroked Van Landing's arms and body and +face. "Your voice, your hands, tell me your class, and your clothes +that you have money. Why—oh, why do you want to go with us?" Quickly +his right hand drew his child toward him, and in terror he pressed her +to his side. "She is my all, my light, my life! Away from her I am in +darkness you could not understand. No, you must not go with us. You +must go away and leave us!"</p> + +<p>For a moment Van Landing hesitated, puzzled by the sudden fear in the +man's face, then over his own crept grayness, and the muscles in it +stiffened.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he said, and his mouth grew dry. "Have men brought men to +this?"</p> + +<p>For another half-moment there was silence which the child, looking +from one to the other, could not understand, and her hands, pressed +close to her breast, gripped tightly her cold fingers. Presently Van +Landing turned.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said. "I will go. It was just that I know little of a +real Christmas. Good night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't go—don't go, Mr. Van! It's going to be Christmas two days +after to-morrow, Father, and the Christ-child wouldn't like it if you +let him go!" Carmencita held the sleeve of Van Landing's coat with a +sturdy clutch. "He isn't a damanarkist. I can tell by his eyes. They +are so lonely-looking. You aren't telling a story, are you Mr. Van? Is +it truly truth that you haven't anybody?"</p> + +<p>"It is truly truth," he said. "I mean anybody to make Christmas for."</p> + +<p>"No mother or father or a little girl like me? Haven't you even got a +wife?"</p> + +<p>"Not even a wife." Van Landing smiled.</p> + +<p>"You are as bad as Miss Barbour. She hasn't anybody, either, now, she +says, 'most everybody being—"</p> + +<p>"Miss who?" Van Landing turned so sharply that the child jumped. "Who +did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Barbour." The eyes which were so like those he could not forget +were raised to his. "If you knew Miss Barbour she could tell you of +plenty of people to make Christmas for. She's living right now with +Mother McNeil, who isn't really anybody's mother, but just +everybody's. But she don't live there all the time. Most of her people +are dead or married and don't need her, so she came to Mother McNeil +to see how children down there live. What's the matter, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>To hide the upleaping flame in his face and the sudden trembling of +his hands Van Landing stooped down and picked up the handkerchief he +had dropped; then he stepped back and out of the circle of light in +which he had been standing. For a moment he did not speak lest his +voice be as unsteady as his hands, but, taking out his watch, he +looked at it, then put it back with fumbling fingers.</p> + +<p>"Her first name—Miss Barbour's first name," he said, and the dryness +of his throat made his words a little indistinct. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>With mouth rounded into a little ball, Carmencita blew on her stiff +finger-tips. "Frances," she said, and first one foot and then the +other was stamped for purpose of warmth. "The damanarkist says God +made her, but the devil has more to do with most women than anybody +else. He don't like women. Do you know her, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>"If your friend is my friend—I know her very well," he said, and put +his hands in his pockets to hide the twitching of his fingers. "A long +time ago she was the only real friend I had, and I lost her. I have +wanted very much to find her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Father, if he knows Miss Barbour he's bound to be all right!" +Carmencita's arms were flung above her head and down again, and on her +tiptoes she danced gaily round and round. "We can show him where she +lives." She stopped. "No, we can't. She told me I must never do that. +I mustn't send any one to her, but I could tell her of anybody I +wanted her to know about." Head uplifted, her eyes searched Van +Landing's, and her words came in an awed whisper, "Was—was she your +sweetheart, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>"She was." Again Van Landing wiped his forehead. It didn't in the +least matter that he was telling to this unknown child the most +personal of matters. Nothing mattered but that perhaps he might find +Frances. "You must take me to her," he said. "I must see her +to-night."</p> + +<p>"I can't take you to see her to-night. She wouldn't like it. Oh, I +know!" Carmencita made another rapid whirl. "We can go down-town and +get"—she nodded confidentially to her new-made friend and pointed her +finger in her father's direction—"and then we can come back and have +some toast and tea; and then I'll send for Miss Barbour to come quick, +as I need her awful, and when she comes in you can say: 'Oh, my lost +and loved one, here I am! We will be married right away, this minute!' +I read that in a book once. Won't it be grand? But you won't—" The +dancing ceased, and her hands stiffened in sudden anxiety. "You won't +take her away, will you?"</p> + +<p>"If she will come with me I will not take her where she won't come +back. Can't we start?"</p> + +<p>But the child was obdurate. She would do nothing until her purchase +was made, and to her entreaties her father finally yielded, and a few +minutes later Van Landing and his new acquaintances were on a +down-town car, bound for a shopping district as unknown to him as the +shops in which he was accustomed to deal were unknown to them.</p> + +<p>Still a bit dazed by his chance discovery, he made no comment on the +child's continual chatter, but let her exuberance and delight have +full play while he tried to adjust himself to a realization that made +all thought but a chaotic mixture of hope and doubt, of turbulent fear +and determined purpose, and of one thing only was he sure. Three years +of his life had been wasted. Another hour should not be lost were it +in his power to prevent.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI" />CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 74px;"> +<img src="images/06.png" width="74" height="120" alt="W" title="" /> +</div><p>hen the store was reached Van Landing for the first time was able to +see distinctly the faces of Carmencita and her father, and as for a +moment he watched the slim little body in its long coat, once the +property, undoubtedly, of a much bigger person, saw her eager, +wonder-filled eyes, and the wistful mouth which had learned to smile +at surrender, the strings of his heart twisted in protest, and for the +"damanarkist" of whom she had spoken, for the moment he had sympathy +of which on yesterday there would have been no understanding. She +could not be more than twelve or thirteen, he thought, but condition +and circumstance had made her a woman in many matters, and the art of +shopping she knew well. Slowly, very slowly, she made her way to the +particular counter at which her precious purchase was to be made, +lingering here and there to gaze at things as much beyond her hope of +possession as the stars of heaven; and, following her slow-walking, +Van Landing could see her eyes brighten and yearn, her lips move, her +hand outstretch to touch and then draw back quickly, and also every +now and then he could see her shake her head.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you do that? Is there anything in here +you would like to get, besides the thing you came for?"</p> + +<p>"Anything I'd like to get!" The words were repeated as if not heard +aright. "Anybody would know you'd never been a girl. There isn't much +in here I wouldn't like to get if I didn't have to pay for it."</p> + +<p>"But not rattles and dolls and drums and pop-guns and boxing-gloves +and all the other things you've looked at. Girls of your age—"</p> + +<p>"This girl wasn't looking at them for herself. I'm 'most grown up now. +But everybody on our street has got a baby, and a lot of children +besides. Mrs. Perry has twins and a baby, and Mrs. Latimer always has +two on a bottle at the same time. I'm just buying things in my mind. +It's the only way I can buy 'em, and Christmas wouldn't be Christmas +if you couldn't buy some way. Sallie Simcoe will go crazy if she don't +get a doll that whistles. She saw one in a window once. It was a +Whistling Jim and cost a dollar. She won't get it. Oh, here it is, Mr. +Van! Here's the counter where the jewelry things are."</p> + +<p>As she neared it she nodded to Van Landing and pointed to her father, +who, hand on her shoulder, had kept close to her, then beckoned him to +come nearer. "He can't see, I know"—her voice was excited—"but take +him away, won't you? I wouldn't have him guess it, not for <i>anything</i> +on earth! I'll be through in a minute."</p> + +<p>In moments incredibly few, but to Van Landing tormentingly long, she +was back again, and close to her heart she was hugging a tiny package +with one hand, while the other was laid on her father's arm. "I got +it," she whispered; "it's perfectly beautiful." She spoke louder. "I +guess we'd better be going now. I know you're hungry, and so am I. +Come on. We can walk home, and then I'll make the tea."</p> + +<p>For a second Van Landing hesitated, then he followed the odd-looking +couple out into the street, but as they started to turn the corner he +stopped.</p> + +<p>"I say"—he cleared his throat to hide its embarrassed +hesitation—"don't you want to do me a favor? Where I live I don't +buy the things I eat, and I've often thought I'd like to. If you are +going to make the tea and toast, why can't I get the—the chicken, +say, and some salad and things? That's a good-looking window over +there with cooked stuff in it. We'll have a party and each put in +something."</p> + +<p>"Chicken?" Into his face the child gazed with pitying comprehension of +his ignorance, and in her voice was shrill amusement. "<i>Chicken!</i> Did +you ever price one? I have, when I'm having kings and queens taking +dinner with me in my mind. People don't have chicken 'cept at +Christmas, and sometimes Sundays if there hasn't been anybody out of +work for a long time. Come on. I've got a box of sardines. Just think, +Father, he wants to buy a <i>chicken</i>!"</p> + +<p>With a gay little laugh in which was shrewd knowledge of the +unthinkableness of certain indulgences, the child slipped one arm +through her father's and another through Van Landing's, and with a +happy skip led the way down the poorly lighted street. A solid mass of +dreary-looking houses, with fronts unrelieved by a distinguishing +feature, stretched as far as the eye could see, and when a few blocks +had been walked it was with a sense of relief that a corner was +turned and Van Landing found himself at the foot of a flight of steps +up which the child bounded and beckoned him to follow.</p> + +<p>The house was like the others, one of a long row, and dull and dark +and dingy, but from its basement came a baby's wailing, while from the +floor above, as the hall was entered, could be heard the rapid click +of a sewing-machine. Four flights of steps were mounted; then +Carmencita took the key from her father's pocket and opened the door.</p> + +<p>"This is our suite," she said, and courtesied low. "Please strike a +match, if you have one, Mr. Van. This house is very old, and history +houses don't have electric lights. The ghosts wouldn't like it. Some +of my best friends are ghosts. I'll be back in a minute."</p> + +<p>As she ran into the little hall room adjoining the large room which he +saw comprised their "suite," Van Landing lighted the lamp near the +mantel and looked around. In the center was a marble-topped table, and +on it a lamp, a work-basket, and several magazines with backs half +gone. The floor was bare save for a small and worn rug here and there, +and on the sills of the uncurtained windows two hardy geraniums were +blooming bravely. A chest of drawers, a few chairs, a shelf of books, +a rug-covered cot, a corner cupboard, a wash-stand behind a screen, +and a small table near the stove, behind which a box of wood could be +seen, completed its furnishings; and still, despite its bareness, +there was something in it which was not in the place wherein he lived, +and wonderingly he again looked around. Had he found himself in the +moon or at the bottom of the Dead Sea it would be hardly less +remarkable than finding himself here. Adventures of this sort were +entirely out of his experience. As regulated as a piece of machinery +his life had become of late, and the routine of office and club and +house had been accepted as beyond escape, and the chance meeting of +this little creature—</p> + +<p>"Oh, my goodness! I forgot to put the kettle on!"</p> + +<p>With a spring that came apparently from the door opposite the stove +near which he was standing Carmencita was by his side, and, swift +movement following swift movement, the lid of the stove was lifted, +wood put in, the kettle of water put on, and the table drawn farther +out in the floor. A moment more the lamp was lighted, her father's +coat and hat in place, his chair drawn up to the now roaring fire; +then, with speculation in her eyes, she stood for half a moment, hands +on hips, looking first at Van Landing and then at the cupboard in the +corner.</p> + +<p>For the first time he saw well the slender little body out of its +long, loose coat, the heavy, brown curls which tumbled over the oval +face, the clear eyes that little escaped, so keen was their quality, +and the thin legs with their small feet in large shoes, and as he +looked he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Well," he asked, "can I help you? You seem very uncertain."</p> + +<p>"I am. Put your hat and coat over there"—she pointed to the covered +cot close to the wall—"then come back and tell me."</p> + +<p>He did as directed and, hands in pockets, stood again in front of her. +"Is"—his face whitened—"is it about Miss Barbour? Can you send her +word?"</p> + +<p>"Send now? I guess not!" On tiptoes the child looked for something on +the mantel-piece. "We haven't had supper yet, and I'm so hungry I +could eat air. Besides, she has a class to-night—The Little Big +Sisters. I'm one when I can go, but I can't go often." She waved her +hand in the direction of her father. "I'll send for her 'bout half +past nine. Which do you like best, sardines with lemon on 'em, or +toasted cheese on toast with syrup afterward? Which?"</p> + +<p>The tone was one of momentous inquiry. Miss Barbour's coming was a +matter that could wait, but supper necessitated a solemn decision +which must be made at once. Hands clasped behind her, the blue eyes +grew big with suspense, and again she repeated, "Which?"</p> + +<p>"I really don't know. Both are very good. I believe I like sardines +better than—Oh no, I don't." He had caught the flicker of +disappointment in the anxious little face. "I mean I think toasted +cheese the best thing to eat that's going. Let's have that!"</p> + +<p>"All right." With another spring the child was at the cupboard, and +swiftly she went to work. "Read to father, won't you?" she called, +without looking round. "In that magazine with the geranium leaf +sticking out is where I left off. You'll have to read right loud."</p> + +<p>Drawing his chair close to the lighted lamp, Van Landing took his seat +near the blind musician, and for the first time noticed the slender, +finely formed fingers of the hands now resting on the arms of the +chair in which he sat; noticed the shiny, well-worn coat and the lock +of white hair that fell across the high forehead; saw the sensitive +mouth; and as he looked he wondered as to the story that was his. An +old one, perhaps. Born of better blood than his present position +implied, he had evidently found the battle of life more than he was +equal to, and, unfit to fight, he had doubtless slipped down and down +in the scale of human society until to-day he and his child were +dwellers on the borderland of the slums.</p> + +<p>He found the article and began to read. The technicalities of musical +composition had never appealed to him, but, though by him the writer's +exhaustive knowledge of his subject was not appreciated, by his +listener it was greatly so, and, in tense eagerness to miss no word, +the latter leaned forward and kept his sightless eyes in the direction +of the sound of his voice.</p> + +<p>Not for long could he read, however. In a few moments Carmencita's +hands were outstretched, and, giving one to each, she led them to the +table, and at it he sat down as naturally as though it were a familiar +occurrence. In the center was a glass jar with a spray of red geranium +in it, and behind the earthen tea-pot the child presided with the +ease of long usage. As she gave him his tea he noticed it was in the +only unchipped cup, and on the one kept for herself there was no +handle. Under his breath he swore softly. Why—He mentally shook +himself. This was no time for why-ing.</p> + +<p>[Illustration: "WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR +TOASTED CHEESE ON TOAST?"]</p> + +<p>As an appetizer the toasted cheese on toasted bread was excellent, but +the supper—if she had only let him get it. He had not dared insist, +and never had he been more consciously a guest, but could people live +on fare so scant as this? It was like Frances to want to know how +other people lived—and not to be content with knowing. But after she +knew how could she sleep at night? Great God! If there was to be a day +of judgment what could men say—men like himself and his friends?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII" />CHAPTER VII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/07.png" width="73" height="120" alt="F" title="" /> +</div><p>or half an hour longer Carmencita chatted gaily, offering dish after +dish of imaginary food with the assurance that it would cause no +sickness or discomfort, and at the child's spirit and imagination Van +Landing marveled. The years of ignorance and indifference, in which he +had not cared to know what Frances knew all men should know, came back +disquietingly, and he wondered if for him it were too late.</p> + +<p>As Carmencita got up to clear the table he took out his watch and +looked at it, then put it quickly back lest she should see. Who was +going to take the note? Why couldn't he go to the place at which was +held the class of Little Big Sisters and get Frances? With a quick +indrawing breath he handed his host cigars.</p> + +<p>"I hope you smoke," he said; "that is, if Carmencita does not object."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't object. Smoke!" Carmencita's hand was waved. "After I +wash the dishes I'll write the note, then I'll go down and get Noodles +to take it. I'll ask Mr. Robinsky to bring the harp up, Father. He +brought it home for us; he's a flute-er." The explanation was made to +Van Landing. "He always brings it home when Father and I are going +somewhere else. Smoke, please. I love to smell smoke smell."</p> + +<p>With a splash the remaining water in the tea-kettle was poured in the +dish-pan, and for a few moments the clatter of knives and forks and +spoons prevented talk. Over the blind man's face crept the content +that comes from a good cigar, and in silence he and his guest smoked +while Carmencita did her work. Not long was there silence, however, +for very shortly the child was on a stool at Van Landing's feet, in +her hands a pad of paper, and on her knee a backless magazine.</p> + +<p>For half a minute she looked in Van Landing's face. "Isn't it nice and +funny—your being here? I like you." Her voice was joyous. "If I tell +you something, you won't tell?" She leaned forward, hands on his +knees. "This afternoon before I went out I asked God please to let +something nice happen. There hasn't anything very nice happened for so +long, I was afraid He had forgot. What must I write, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>Into Van Landing's face the color surged, then died away and left it +strangely white. The child's eyes were holding his, and he did not try +to avoid them. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was to +get Frances quickly.</p> + +<p>"Tell her I must see her to-night, that I must come to her. Why can't +I go to her, Carmencita?"</p> + +<p>"Because she doesn't want anybody to come to see her that she doesn't +tell to come. She told me so herself, and I wouldn't break her rules +for a gold ring with a ruby in it. I know. I'll tell her I'm bound to +show her something to-night or I won't sleep a wink. And you'll be +<i>It</i>! You can go in Father's room, and when she comes in you will come +out and say—What will you say, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Perhaps I sha'n't say anything. Sometimes one can't."</p> + +<p>"I'll look in that book I read once and see what he said, if you want +me to. It was a beautiful book. It had an awful lot of love in it. I +know what I'm going to write."</p> + +<p>For some moments she wrote laboriously on the pad, which wabbled +badly on her knees, then she folded the piece of paper and, getting +up, went toward the door. Van Landing followed her.</p> + +<p>"The boy," he said. "Will you give him this and tell him if the note +is delivered to Miss Barbour personally there will be more when he +comes back?" He held out his hand.</p> + +<p>As if not seeing aright, Carmencita looked closely at what was held +toward her, then up in Van Landing's face. "You must have plenty of +money, if you haven't any friends," she said, and in her voice was +faint suspicion. "Noodles can't have that. He'd never go anywhere for +me again if he got that much." Her hand waved his away. "When he comes +back, if you'll give him a quarter he'll stand on his head. It's hard +and hollow, and he makes right smart standing on it and wriggling his +feet." She shook her head. "It would ruin him to give him a dollar. +Please read to Father."</p> + +<p>Her visitor's face flushed. Why couldn't he remember? "Very well," he +said; "manage it your way. Tell him to hurry, will you?'"</p> + +<p>Would she come? With his lips Stephen Van Landing was pronouncing the +words of the article he had again begun to read to the blind harpist, +but in his heart, which was beating thickly, other words were surging, +and every now and then he wiped his forehead lest its dampness be seen +by the child's keen eyes. Would she come? Three years had passed since +senseless selfishness on his part had made her spirit flare and she +had given him back his ring. For a moment he had held it, and in the +dancing flames of the logs upon the hearth in the library of her +beautiful old-fashioned home its stones had gleamed brilliantly, +flashed protesting fire; then he had dropped it in the blaze and +turned and left the room. Had she forgotten, or had she suffered, too?</p> + +<p>With mechanical monotony the words continued to come from his lips, +but his thoughts were afar off, and presently Carmencita took the +magazine out of his hand.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," she said, "but Father is asleep, and you don't know a +word you're saying. You might as well stop."</p> + +<p>Putting the magazine on the table, Carmencita drew the stool on which +she was sitting closer to Van Landing's chair, and, hands clasped +around her knees, looked up into his eyes. In hers was puzzled +questioning.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon." His face flushed under the grave scrutiny bent +upon him. "I was reading abominably, but I couldn't get my mind—"</p> + +<p>"I know," Carmencita nodded understandingly. "I do that way sometimes +when I'm saying one thing and thinking another, and Father always +takes a little nap until I get out of the clouds. He says I spend a +lot of my time in the clouds. I'm bound to soar sometimes. If I didn't +make out I wasn't really and truly living here, on the top floor, with +the Rheinhimers underneath, but just waiting for our house to be fixed +up, I couldn't stand it all the time. I'd go—"</p> + +<p>She hesitated, then again went on. "You see, it's this way. There 're +a lot of things I hate, but I've got to stand them, and the only way I +can do it is to get away from them in my mind sometimes. Father says +it's the way we stand things that proves the kind of person we are; +but Father is Father, and I am me, and letting out is a great relief. +Did you ever feel as if you're bound to say things sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I've not only felt I had to say them, but I said them." +Van Landing looked at his watch. "Your Father is doubtless right, +but—"</p> + +<p>"Noodles hasn't had time to get back yet, and she might not be +there." Carmencita glanced toward the clock. "And Father is always +right. He's had to sit so many hours alone and think and think and +think, that he's had time to ask God about a good many things we don't +take time to ask about. I pray a lot, but my kind of prayers isn't +praying. They're mostly asking, and Father says prayer is +receiving—is getting God in you, I mean. I don't understand, but he +does, and he doesn't ask for things like I do, but for patience and +courage and—and things like that. No matter what happens, he keeps on +trusting. I don't. I'm not much of a truster. I want to do things my +way, myself." She leaned forward. "If I tell you something will you +promise not to tell anybody, not even Miss Frances when—when it's all +right?"</p> + +<p>"I promise."</p> + +<p>Van Landing nodded at the eager little face upraised to his. It was +singularly attractive and appealing, and the varying emotions that +swept over it indicated a temperament that took little in life calmly, +or as a commonplace happening, and a surge of protest at her +surroundings swept over him.</p> + +<p>"I promise," he repeated. "I won't tell."</p> + +<p>"Cross your heart and shut your eyes and I will tell you."</p> + +<p>Hands on his knees, Carmencita watched the awkward movements of Van +Landing's fingers, then she laughed joyously, but when she spoke her +voice was in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"I'm writing a book."</p> + +<p>"You are doing what?"</p> + +<p>"Writing a book! It's perfectly grand. That is, some days it is, but +most days it is a mess. It was a mess yesterday, and I burned up every +single word I wrote last week. I'll show it to you if you want to see +it."</p> + +<p>Without waiting for an answer Carmencita sprang to her feet, and with +noiseless movement skipped across the room, and from the middle drawer +of the chest between the windows took out a large flat box.</p> + +<p>"This is it." Again taking her seat on the stool at Van Landing's +feet, she opened the box carefully. One by one she lifted out of it +pieces of paper of varying size and color and held them toward her +visitor, who, hands clasped between knees, was bending forward and +watching with amazed interest the seemingly exhaustless contents of +the box beside him.</p> + +<p>"I use pad-paper when I have it." Several white sheets were laid in a +pile by themselves. "But most of the chapters are on wrapping-paper. +Mrs. Beckwith gives me all of hers, and so does Mrs. Rheinhimer when +her children don't chew it up before she can save it. That's chapter +fourteen. I don't like it much, it's so squshy, but I wrote it that +way because I read in a newspaper once that slops sold better than +anything else, and I'm writing this to sell, if I can."</p> + +<p>"Have you named it?" Van Landing's voice was as serious as +Carmencita's. "I've been told that a good title is a great help to a +book. I hope yours will bring you a good deal of money, but—"</p> + +<p>"So do I." Carmencita's hands came together fervently. "I'm bound to +make some money, and this is the only way I can think of until I'm +fourteen and can go to work. I'm just thirteen and two months, and I +can't go yet. The law won't let me. I used to think it took a lot of +sense to write a book, but the Damanarkist says it don't, and that +anybody who is fool enough to waste time could write the truck people +read nowadays. He don't read it, but I do, all I can get—I like it."</p> + +<p>"I've never tried to write." Van Landing again glanced at the clock. +Noodles was staying an interminably long time. "Like you, I imagined +it took some measure of ability—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it don't. I mean it doesn't take any to write things like +that." Carmencita's finger pointed to several backless magazines and a +couple of paper-bound books on the table behind her. "I read once that +people like to read things that make them laugh and cry and—and +forget about the rent money, and tell all about love-dovies and +villains and beautiful maidens, and my book's got some of all those +kinds of things in it. It hasn't got any—What did you say you thought +it took to write a book?"</p> + +<p>"Ability—that is, a little of it."</p> + +<p>"I guess that depends on the kind of book it is. I put something of +everything I could think of in mine, but I didn't put any ability in. +I didn't have any to put, and, besides, I wanted it to sell. That's +the chapter I love best." A large piece of brown paper was waved in +the air. "It's the one in which the Princess Patricia gets ready to +die because she hears her sweetheart making love to some one else, and +then she comes to her senses and makes him marry the other girl so +they can live miserable ever after, and the Princess goes about doing +good like Miss Frances. But I'm going to marry her to somebody before +I'm through—I'm—"</p> + +<p>"You believe in marriage, then." Van Landing smiled, and, stooping, +picked up several sheets of paper evidently torn from a blank-book. +"This must be the courtship chapter. It seems rather sentimental."</p> + +<p>"It is. Regular mush slush. It's the kind of courting a man who isn't +much does—that is, I guess it's the kind, but the Princess +understands. She's been fooled once. Tell me"—Carmencita leaned +forward and, arms again crossed on Van Landing's knees, looked +anxiously in his face—"what does a man say when he's really and truly +courting? I mean a nice man. When the Real one comes, the Right +one—what will he say? I'm just about there, and I don't know how to +go on."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could tell you." Van Landing leaned back in his chair and, +taking out his watch again, looked at it. "I shouldn't dare to try to +write a novel, consequently—"</p> + +<p>"I'll try anything while I'm waiting to go to work." Carmencita sat +back dejectedly. "Is a book a novel because it has love in it?"</p> + +<p>"It is generally supposed to be. When you are older you may write +your love scenes with greater knowledge and—"</p> + +<p>"No, I won't. I don't expect to have any love scenes when I get +married. I've read a lot of that, and it don't last. All I want my +husband to say is, 'Will you marry me, Carmencita?' and I will say, +'Yes,' and I hope we'll keep on liking each other. Some don't." Her +face changed, and she sat upright, her hands pressed to her breast. +"<i>This</i> is a novel—to—night is! We're living one, and you're the +Prince and Miss Frances is the Princess, and I found you! Oh, my +goodness! what is that?"</p> + +<p>With a swift movement she was on her feet and at the door. Van +Landing, too, rose quickly. Below could be heard loud voices, the +moving of furniture, and the cries of frightened children, and +cautiously Carmencita turned the knob and went into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Old Beer-Barrel is drunk again." Tiptoeing to the banister, she +leaned over it. "When he gets like this he's crazy as a loon, and some +day he'll kill somebody. Goodness gracious! he's coming up here!"</p> + +<p>Before Van Landing could reach her she was inside and at the +wash-stand. Taking up the pitcher filled with water, she again ran +into the hall, and as the cursing, stumbling man began to mount the +stairs she leaned over the banister and poured the contents of the +pitcher on his head. As if shot, the man stood still, face upturned, +hair drenched, hands trembling, then he sat down on the steps.</p> + +<p>Giving the pitcher to Van Landing, she told him to fill it and pointed +to a faucet in the hall. "I don't think he'll need another; one is +generally enough. I've seen him like this before. His wife won't throw +water in his face, but I throw." She leaned farther over the railing. +"If you'll be quiet and go back quick I won't put any more water on +you; it's awful cold, but if you don't—"</p> + +<p>Slowly, and as if dazed, the man on the steps got up, and as he +disappeared Carmencita nodded to her visitor to go back to her Father, +now standing by the table. Closing the door, she came toward him and +pushed him again in his chair, smoothing lightly the snow-white hair +and kissing the trembling fingers, then at his feet she took her seat.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry he waked you. It was just old Beer-Barrel. He oughtn't +to drink"—she raised her eyes to Van Landing's—"but a man who's got +a wife like his is bound to do something, and sometimes I wish I could +put the water on her instead of him."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII" />CHAPTER VIII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/08.png" width="73" height="120" alt="F" title="" /> +</div><p>or a moment Van Landing walked up and down the room, hands in his +pockets and heart pounding in a way of which he was ashamed. +Ordinarily the sight of a drunken man would have awakened little +emotion save disgust, but the realization of the helplessness of the +two people before him filled him with inward rage, and for some time +he could not trust himself to speak. A sickening horror of this +hideous side of life filled him with strange protest. Yesterday he had +not known and had not cared that such things could be, and now—</p> + +<p>On Carmencita's face was none of the alarm that had come into his. Her +father, too, was getting over his fright. For this helpless old man +and fair, frail child, whose wit and courage were equal to situations +of which she had the right of childhood to be ignorant, the scene just +witnessed had the familiarity of frequent repetition, but for him it +was horribly new, and if the Damanarkist of whom Carmencita so often +spoke should come in he would be glad to shake his hand.</p> + +<p>A noise at the door made him start. They were coming. The boy and +Frances. He dug his hands deeper in his pockets to hide their +trembling, and his face went white.</p> + +<p>But it was not Noodles. It was Mr. Robinsky, who had brought the harp, +and, though he evidently intended to sit down and talk, with +consummate skill and grace he was led into the hall by Carmencita and +told good night with sweetness and decision. It was wonderfully +managed. No man could have done it, and in his heart Van Landing +thanked her; but before he could speak there was a loud pounding on +the door, and both he and Carmencita started nervously toward it.</p> + +<p>"It's Noodles. I know his knock." Carmencita's hands clasped tightly, +and in her voice was eager trembling. "I'm so excited I can't breathe +good! It's like being in a book. Go in the room over there quick, Mr. +Van. Come in!"</p> + +<p>With inward as well as outward rigidity Van Landing waited. To the +movements of Carmencita's hand waving him away he paid no attention. +In thick, heavy throbs his heart sent the blood to his face, then it +receded, and for a moment the room was dark and he saw nothing. To the +"come in" of Carmencita the door opened, and he looked in its +direction. Noodles was alone.</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" Carmencita's voice was high and shrill in excitement +and dismay. "I told you to wait for her! You know I told you to wait +for her!"</p> + +<p>Cap in hand, Noodles looked first at Van Landing and then at the +child. "Warn't no her to wait for," he said, presently. "She ain't +there, and she didn't go to the class to-night. Miss James went for +her. Some of her kin-folks is in town staying with some their +kin-folks, and she is spending the night with 'em." The now soiled and +crumpled note was held toward Carmencita. "She won't be back till day +after to-morrow, what's Christmas eve, though she might come back +to-morrow night, Fetch-It said. Warn't nobody there but +Fetch-It—leastways warn't nobody else I seen."</p> + +<p>Van Landing looked at Carmencita, then turned sharply and went over +toward the window. A choking, stifling sensation made breathing +difficult, and, the tension of the past few hours relaxed, he felt as +one on the edge of a precipice from which at any moment he might +topple over. It was too cold to open the window, but he must have air. +Going to the couch, he took up his hat and coat, then came back and +held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Give him this"—he nodded at Noodles, "and tell your father good +night. And thank you, Carmencita, thank you for letting me come. +To-morrow—" The room was getting black. "I will see you to-morrow."</p> + +<p>A moment later he was out of the room and down the steps and on the +street, and in the darkness he walked as one who feels something in +his way he cannot see; and then he laughed, and the laugh was hard and +bitter, and in it was a sound that was not good to hear.</p> + +<p>The cold air stung his face, made breathing better, and after a while +he looked up. For many blocks he had walked unheedingly, but, hearing +a church-bell strike the hour, he took out his watch and glanced at +it. To go home was impossible. Turning into a side-street, he walked +rapidly in a direction that led he knew not whither, and for a while +let the stinging sensation of disappointment and rebellion possess him +without restraint. It was pretty cruel, this sudden shutting of the +door of hope in his face. The discovery of Frances's presence in the +city had brought again in full tumultuous surge the old love and +longing, and the hours of waiting had been well-nigh unendurable. And +now he would have to wait until day after to-morrow. He would go +to-morrow night to this Mother Somebody. What was her name? He could +remember nothing, was, indeed, as stupid as if he had been knocked in +the head. Well, he had been. Where did this woman live? The child had +refused to tell him. With a sudden stop he looked around. Where was +he? He had walked miles in and out of streets as unknown to him as if +part of a city he had never been in, and he had no idea where he was. +A sudden fear gripped him. Where did Carmencita live? He had paid no +attention to the streets they were on when she took him to the house +she called home. He was full of other thought, but her address, of +course, he would get before he left, and he had left without asking. +What a fool he was! What a stupid fool! For half a moment he looked +uncertainly up and down the street whose name he did not know. No +policeman was in sight; no one was in sight except a woman on the +opposite pavement, who was scurrying along with something under her +shawl hugged close to her breast, and a young girl who was coming his +way. Turning, he retraced his steps. He did not know in which +direction to go. He only knew he must keep on. Perhaps he could find +his way back to the place where Carmencita lived.</p> + +<p>He did not find it. Through the night he walked street after street, +trying to recall some building he had passed, but he had walked as +blind men walk, and nothing had been noticed. To ask of people what +they could not tell was useless. He did not know the name of the +street he wanted to find, and, moreover, a curious shrinking kept him +from inquiring. In the morning he would find it, but he did not want +to make demands upon the usual sources for help until he had exhausted +all other means of redeeming his folly in not learning Carmencita's +full name and address before he left her. Was a man's whole life to be +changed, to be made or unmade, by whimsical chance or by stupid +blunder? In the gray dawn of a new day he reached his home and went to +bed for a few hours' sleep.</p> + +<p>When, later, he left his house to renew his search for Carmencita the +weather had changed. It had begun to snow, and tiny particles of ice +stung his face as he walked, and the people who passed shivered as +they hurried by. On every street that offered chance of being the one +he sought he went up and down its length, and not until he felt he was +being noticed did he take into partial confidence a good-natured +policeman who had nodded to him on his third passing. The man was +kindly, but for hay-stack needles there was no time and he was +directed to headquarters. To find a house, number unknown, on a +street, name unknown, of a party, full name again unknown, was too +much of a puzzle for busy times like these. Any other time than +Christmas—He was turned from that an inquiry from a woman with a +child in her arms might be answered.</p> + +<p>"Any other time than Christmas!"</p> + +<p>With a sense of demoralization it was dawning on him that he might not +find her, or Carmencita, in time for Christmas, and he <i>must</i> find +them. A great hunger for the day to be to him what it seemed to be to +others possessed him feverishly, and with eyes that saw what they had +never seen before he watched, as he walked, the faces of the people +who passed, and in his heart crept childish longing to buy something +for somebody, something that was wanted very much, as these people +seemed to be doing. He had made out the checks he usually sent to +certain institutions and certain parties at this season of the year +for his head clerk to mail. By this time they had been received, but +with them had gone no word of greeting or good will; his card alone +had been inclosed. A few orders had been left at various stores, but +with them went no Christmas spirit. He wondered how it would feel to +buy a thing that could make one's face look as Carmencita's had looked +when she made her purchase of the night before. It was a locket she +had bought—a gold locket.</p> + +<p>In a whispered confidence while in the car she had told him it was for +her mother's picture. The picture used to be in her father's watch, +but the watch had to be sold when he was sick, after her mother's +death, and he had missed the touch of the picture so. She knew, for +often she had seen him holding his watch in his hand, open at the +back, where the picture lay, with his fingers on it, and sometimes he +would kiss it when he thought she was out of the room. After the watch +was sold the picture had been folded up in one of her mother's +handkerchiefs, and her father kept it in the pocket of his coat; but +once it had slipped out of the handkerchief, and once through a hole +in the pocket, and they thought it was lost. Her father hadn't slept +any that night. And now he could sleep with the locket around his +neck. She would put it on a ribbon. Wasn't it grand? And Carmencita's +hands had clasped ecstatically.</p> + +<p>Up and down the streets he went, looking, looking, looking. The +district in which he found himself was one of the poorest in the city, +but the shops were crowded with buyers, and, though the goods for sale +were cheap and common and of a quality that at other times would have +repelled, to-day they interested. Carmencita might be among the +shoppers. She had said she had a few things to get for some +children—penny things—and she was possibly out, notwithstanding the +snow which now was falling thick and fast.</p> + +<p>Some time after his usual lunch-hour he remembered he must have +something to eat; and, going into a dingy-looking restaurant, he sat +down at a table, the only one which had a vacant seat at it, and +ordered coffee and oysters. His table companion was a half-grown boy +with chapped hands and a thin white face; but his eyes were clear and +happy, and the piece of pie he was eating was being swallowed in huge +hunks. It was his sole order, a piece of awful-looking pie. As the +coffee and oysters were brought him Van Landing saw the boy look at +them hungrily and then turn his eyes away.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon." Van Landing, whose well-regulated life permitted +of few impulses, turned to the boy. "I ordered these things"—he +pointed to the steaming food—"and I don't want them. I want something +else. Would you mind having them? It's a pity to throw them away."</p> + +<p>The boy hesitated, uncertain what was meant, then he laughed. "It sure +is," he said. "If you don't want them I'll help you out. I'm hollow as +a hound what's been on a hunt. Good thing Christmas don't come but +once a year. You can cut out lunch better'n anything else for a +save-up, though. That girl over there"—he pointed his finger behind +him—"ain't had nothing but a glass of milk for a month. She's got +some kiddie brothers and sisters, and they're bound to have Christmas, +she says. Rough day, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing gave another order. Had it not been for the gnawing +restlessness, the growing fear, which filled him, the scene would have +interested. A few days ago he would have seen only the sordid side of +it, the crudeness and coarseness; but the search he was on had +humanized what hitherto had only seemed a disagreeable and +objectionable side of life, and the people before him were of an odd +kinship. In their faces was hunger. There were so many kinds of hunger +in the world. He got up, and with a nod to the boy paid his bill and +went out.</p> + +<p>Through the afternoon hours he walked steadily. Dogged determination +made him keep on, just as sensitive shrinking prevented his making +inquiries of others. It was silly to ask what couldn't be answered. He +must have been mad the night before not to have noticed where he was +going, not to have asked Carmencita her name.</p> + +<p>By four o'clock the street-lights had been turned on, making of the +dark, dingy tenements a long lane with high, unbroken walls, and on a +corner he stood for a moment wondering which was the best way to go. +To his left were shops; he went toward them, and each face of the +children coming in or going out was scanned intently. Seeing a group +pressed close to a window in which was displayed an assortment of +dolls of all sorts and sizes, with peculiar clothing of peculiar +colors, he went toward them, stood for a moment by their side. One of +the children was the size of Carmencita.</p> + +<p>"That's mine—that one in the pink-silk dress"—a dirty little finger +was pointed to a huge and highly decorated doll in the center of the +window—"that and the blue beads, and that box of paints with the +picture on it, and—"</p> + +<p>"You're a pig, all right. Want the earth, don't you? Well, you can't +have it." And valiantly a child with a shawl on her head pushed closer +to the window, now clouded by the steam from many little mouths. "I +want that one—the one in long clothes with a cap on. What you want, +Lizzie Lue? Look out there and keep your elbows where they +belong"—this to the jostling, pushing crowd behind. "Come on, kid; +kick if you have to; only way you can manage some folks. Which one you +want, Lizzie Lue?" And a tiny scrap of a child was held up in arms but +little bigger than her own.</p> + +<p>As Van Landing listened a sudden impulse to take the children in and +get for them the things they wanted came over him; then he walked +away. If only he could find Carmencita and let her do the buying. Was +Christmas like this every year? These children with no chance—was +there no one to give them their share of childhood's rights? +Settlement workers, churches, schools, charity associations—things of +that sort doubtless saw to them. It was not his business. But wasn't +it his business? Could it possibly be his business to know—and care?</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir."</p> + +<p>Van Landing looked up. A tall, slender man in working-clothes, a +basket on one arm, his wife holding to the other, tried to touch his +hat. "The crowd makes walking hard without pushing. I hope I didn't +step on your foot."</p> + +<p>"Didn't touch it." The man had on no overcoat, and his hands were red +and chapped. He was much too thin for his height, and as he coughed +Van Landing understood. "Shopping, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>Why he asked he did not know, and it was the wife he asked, the young +wife whose timid clutch of her husband's arm was very unlike the +manner of most of the women he had passed. She looked up.</p> + +<p>"We were afraid to wait until to-morrow, it's snowing so hard. We +might not be able to get out, and the children—"</p> + +<p>"We've got three kiddies home." The man's thin face brightened, and he +rubbed his coat sleeve across his mouth to check his cough. "Santa +Claus is sure enough to them, and we don't want 'em to know different +till we have to. A merry Christmas, sir!"</p> + +<p>As they went on Van Landing turned and looked. They were poor people. +But were they quite so poor as he? He had seen many for whom he might +have made Christmas had he known in time—might have saved the +sacrifices that had to be made; but would it then have been Christmas? +Slowly, very slowly, in the shabby street and snow-filled air, an +understanding of things but dimly glimpsed before was coming to him, +and he was seeing what for long had been unseen.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX" />CHAPTER IX</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/09.png" width="73" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><p>hink hard, Father—oh, <i>please</i> think hard! It was Van—Van—" +Carmencita, hands clutched tightly behind her back, leaned forward on +her tiptoes and anxiously peered into her father's face for sign of +dawning memory. "If I hadn't been so Christmas-crazy I'd have listened +better, but I wasn't thinking about his name. Can't you—<i>can't</i> you +remember the last part? It was Van—Van—"</p> + +<p>Slowly her father shook his head. "I wish I could, Carmencita. I don't +hear well of late and I didn't catch his name. You called him Mr. +Van."</p> + +<p>"I called him that for short. I'm a cutting-down person even in +names." The palms of Carmencita's hands came together and her fingers +interlocked. "If I'd had more sense and manners I'd have called his +name right from the first, and we wouldn't have lost him. I could +have found him to-day if I'd known what to look for in the +telephone-book, or if Miss Frances had been at Mother McNeil's. She +might as well be lost, too, but she'll be back at seven, and that's +why I am going now, so as to be there the minute she gets in, to ask +her what his—"</p> + +<p>"She might not like your asking, Carmencita. You must be careful, +child. Miss Barbour is not a lady one can—"</p> + +<p>"Not a lady one can what?" Carmencita stopped her nervous swaying, and +the big blue eyes looked questioningly at her father. "Was there ever +a lady who didn't want to find her lost lover if he was looking for +her? That's what he is. And she wants to find him, if she don't know +it exactly. She's working it off down here with us children, but she's +got something on her mind. He's it. We've got to find him, Father—got +to!"</p> + +<p>With a dexterous movement of her fingers Carmencita fastened the +buttons of her coat and pulled her hat down on her head. "I'm going +back to Mother McNeil's," she said, presently, and the large and +half-worn rubbers which she had tied on over her shoes were looked at +speculatively. "The Damanarkist is going to take me. As soon as Miss +Frances tells me Mr. Van's name I'll telephone him to come quick, but +I won't tell her that. She might go away again. In that slushy book I +read the girl ought to have been shook. She was dying dead in love +with her sweetheart and treated him like he was a poodle-dog. Miss +Frances wouldn't do that, but I don't know what she might do, and I'm +not going to tell her any more than I can help. I want her to think it +just happened. Good-by, and go to sleep if you want to, but don't +smoke, please. You might drop the sparks on your coat. Good-by."</p> + +<p>With a swift kiss she was gone and, meeting the Damanarkist, who was +waiting outside the door, they went down the three flights of steps +and out into the street. The wind was biting, and, turning up the +collar of her coat, Carmencita put her hands in her pockets and made +effort to walk rapidly through the thick snow into which her feet sank +with each step. For some minutes conversation was impossible. Heads +ducked to keep out of their faces the fast-falling flakes, they +trudged along in silence until within a few doors of Mother McNeil's +house, and then Carmencita looked up.</p> + +<p>"Do—do you ever pray, Mr. Leimberg—pray hard, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Pray!" The Damanarkist drew in his breath and laughed with smothered +scorn. "Pray! Why should I pray? I cut out prayer when I was a kid. +No, I don't pray."</p> + +<p>"It's a great comfort, praying is." Carmencita's hand was taken out of +her pocket and slipped through the arm of her disillusioned friend. +"Sometimes you're just bound to pray. It's like breathing—you can't +help it. It—it just rises up. I prayed yesterday for—for something, +and it pretty near happened, but—"</p> + +<p>"And you think your praying helped to make it happen!" Mr. Leimberg +drew Carmencita's hand farther through his arm, and his lips twisted +in contemptuous pity. "You think there is a magician up—oh, +somewhere, who makes things happen, do you? Think—"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Carmencita's feet skipped in spite of the clogging snow. "I +think that somewhere there is Somebody who knows about everything, but +I don't think He means us to ask for anything we want just because we +want it and don't do a lick to get it. I've been praying for months +and months about my temper and stamping my foot when I get mad, and +if I remember in time and hold down the up-comings my prayers are +always answered; but when I let go and forget—" Carmencita whistled a +long, low, significant note. "I guess then I don't want to be +answered. I want to smash something. But I didn't pray yesterday about +tempers and stamping. It was pretty near a miracle that I asked for, +though I said I wasn't asking for miracles or—"</p> + +<p>"All people who pray ask for miracles. Since the days when men +feared floods and famines and pestilence and evil spirits they have +cried out for protection and propitiated what to them were gods." +The Damanarkist spit upon the ground as if to spew contempt of +pretense and cupidity. "I've no patience with it. If there is a +God, He knows the cursed struggle life is with most of us; and if +there isn't, prayer is but a waste of time."</p> + +<p>Carmencita lifted her eyes and for a moment looked in the dark, thin +face, embittered by the losing battle of life, as if she had not heard +aright, then she laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"If I didn't know you, dear Mr. Damanarkist, I'd think you really +meant it—what you said. And you don't. I don't guess there's anybody +in all the world who doesn't pray sometimes. Something in you does it +by itself, and you can't keep it back. You just wait until you feel +all lost and lonely and afraid, or so glad you are ready to sing out +loud, then you'll do it—inside, if you don't speak out. If I prayed +harder to have more sense and not talk so much, and not say what I +think about people, and not hate my ugly clothes so, and despise the +smell of onions and cabbage and soap-suds, I might get more answers, +but you can't get answers just by praying. You've got to work like the +mischief, and be a regular policeman over yourself and nab the bad +things the minute they poke their heads out. If I'd prayed differently +yesterday I wouldn't have been looking for—for somebody all to-day, +and be a jumping-jack to-night for fear I won't find him. Did—did you +ever have a sweetheart, Mr. Damanarkist?" Before answer could be made +Mother McNeil's house was reached, and with steps that were leaps +Carmencita was at the door, and a moment later inside. Finding that +Miss Frances had returned, she called to Mr. Leimberg to come for her +on his way back from the station library where he was to get his book, +and breathlessly she ran to Miss Barbour's door and knocked violently +upon it.</p> + +<p>To the "come in" she entered, eyes big and shining, and cheeks stung +into color by the bitter wind; and with a rush forward the hands of +her adored friend were caught and held with a tight and nervous grip.</p> + +<p>"Miss Frances! Miss Frances!"</p> + +<p>Two arms were flung around Miss Barbour's waist, and for a moment the +curly brown head was buried on her breast and words refused to come; +instead came breathing short and quick; then Carmencita looked up.</p> + +<p>"What—oh, what is his name, Miss Frances? He was found and now is +lost, and I promised—I promised I'd get you for him!"</p> + +<p>Frances Barbour lifted the excited little face and kissed it. "What's +the matter, Carmencita? You look as if you'd seen a ghost, and you're +talking as if—"</p> + +<p>"I'm crazy—I'm not. And there isn't any time to lose. He said he +<i>must</i> find you before Christmas. There isn't a soul to make Christmas +for him, and he hasn't anybody to buy things for, and he's as lonely +as a—a desert person, and he doesn't want any one but you. Oh, Miss +Frances, what is his name?"</p> + +<p>Frances Barbour leaned back in the chair in which she had taken her +seat, and her face whitened. "What are you talking about, and who +is—"</p> + +<p>"I'm talking about—Him." On her knees Carmencita crouched against her +friend's chair, and her long, slender fingers intertwined with those +which had suddenly grown nerveless. "I'm talking about your +sweetheart, Miss Frances. I found him for you, and then I lost him. +I'll tell you how it happened after I know all of his name and—If you +had seen his face when I told him I knew you and knew where you lived +you'd hurry, you'd—"</p> + +<p>"If he wishes to see me, why doesn't he—I mean—" Sudden color surged +into the face turned from the child's eager eyes. "What are we talking +about, Carmencita? There is evidently some mistake."</p> + +<p>"There is. An awful one. It's three years old. And we're talking about +the gentleman Father and I met yesterday and lost last night. You're +his sweetheart, and he wants you for Christmas and for ever after, and +he may be dead by to-morrow if he doesn't find you. He came to our +house, and I wrote you a note to come, too, and when you didn't do it +he looked as if he'd been hit in the face and couldn't breathe good, +and he stumbled down the steps like a blind man, and we'd forgot to +tell him our name, and he didn't know the number of our house, and—" +She paused for breath and brushed back the curls from her face. "I +know he's been looking all day. Where does he live, Miss Frances, and +what is his name?"</p> + +<p>"If you will tell me of whom you are talking I will tell you whether +or not I know him. Until you do—"</p> + +<p>"I told you I didn't remember any of his name but the Van part. Don't +you know the name of the person you love best on earth? It's his name +I want."</p> + +<p>Frances Barbour got up and walked over to the bureau and opened its +top drawer. "You are asking questions that in any one else I would not +permit, Carmencita. I am sure you do not mean to be—"</p> + +<p>"I don't mean anything but that I want to know all of Mr. Van's name, +and if you don't tell me you are not a Christian!"</p> + +<p>With a change of expression Carmencita sprang to her feet and, hands +clasped behind her back, she stood erect, her eyes blazing with +indignation. "If you don't tell him where you are, don't let him come, +I'll think it's all just make-believe and put on, your coming and +doing for people you don't really and truly know, and doing nothing +for those you do, and letting the ones you love best be lonely and +miserable and having Christmas all by themselves when they're starving +hungry for you. What is his name?" Carmencita's voice was high and +shrill, and her foot was stamped vehemently. "What is his name?"</p> + +<p>"Stephen Van Landing."</p> + +<p>Face to face, Frances Barbour and Carmencita looked into each other's +eyes, then with a leap Carmencita was out of the room and down the +steps and at the telephone. With hands that trembled she turned the +pages of the book she was holding upside down, then with disgust at +her stupidity she righted it and ran her finger down the long line of +V's. Finding at last the name she wanted, she called the number, then +closed her eyes and prayed fervently, feverishly, and half-aloud the +words came jerkily:</p> + +<p>"O God, please let him be home, and let him get down here quick before +Miss Frances goes out. She and Mother McNeil are going somewhere and +won't be back until eleven, and that would be too late for him to +come, and—Hello!" The receiver was jammed closer to her ear. "Is +that Mr. Van Landing's house? Is he home? He—he—isn't home!" The +words came in a little wail. "Oh, he must be home! Are you +sure—<i>sure</i>? Where can I get him? Where is he? You don't know—hasn't +been at the office all day and hasn't telephoned? He's looking—I mean +I guess he's, trying to find somebody. Who is this talking? It's—it's +a friend of his, and tell him the minute he comes in to call up Pelham +4293 and ask for Miss Frances Barbour, who wants to talk to him. And +listen. Tell him if she's out to come to 14 Custer Street, to Mother +McNeil's, and wait until she gets home. Write it down. Got it? Yes, +that's it. Welcome. Good-by."</p> + +<p>The receiver was hung upon its hook, and for a moment Carmencita +stared at the wall; then her face sobered. The strain and tension of +the day gave way, and the high hopes of the night before went out as +at the snuffing of a candle. Presently she nodded into space.</p> + +<p>"I stamped my foot at Miss Frances. <i>Stamped my foot</i>! And I got mad, +and was impertinent, and talked like a gutter girl to a sure-enough +lady. Talked like—"</p> + +<p>Her teeth came down on her lips to stop their sudden quivering, and +the picture on the wall grew blurred and indistinct.</p> + +<p>"There isn't any use in praying." Two big tears rolled down her cheeks +and fell upon her hands. "I might as well give up."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X" />CHAPTER X</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/10.png" width="73" height="120" alt="F" title="" /> +</div><p>or a half-moment after Carmencita left the room Frances Barbour stood +in the middle of the floor and stared at the door, still open, then +went over and closed it. Coming back to the table at which she had +been writing, she sat down and took up her pen and made large circles +on the sheet of paper before her. Slowly the color in her face cooled +and left it white.</p> + +<p>Carmencita was by nature cyclonic. Her buoyancy and bubbling spirits, +her enthusiasms and intensities, were well understood, but how could +she possibly know Stephen Van Landing? All day he had been strangely +on her mind, always he was in her heart, but thought of him was forced +to be subconscious, for none other was allowed. Of late, however, +crowd it back as she would, a haunting sense of his presence had been +with her, and under the busy and absorbed air with which she had gone +about the day's demands there had been sharp surge of unpermitted +memories of which she was impatient and ashamed.</p> + +<p>Also there had been disquieting questions, questions to which she had +long refused to listen, and in the crush and crowd they had pursued +her, peered at her in unexpected places, and faced her in the quiet of +her room, and from them she was making effort to escape when +Carmencita burst in upon her. The latter was too excited, too full of +some new adventure, to talk clearly or coherently. Always Carmencita +was adventuring, but what could she mean by demanding to know the name +of her sweetheart, and by saying she had found him and then lost him? +And why had she, Frances Barbour, told her as obediently as if their +positions were reversed and she the child instead of Carmencita?</p> + +<p>Elbow on the table and chin in the palm of her hand, she tapped the +desk-pad with her pen and made small dots in the large circles she had +drawn on the paper, and slowly she wrote a name upon it.</p> + +<p>What could Stephen Van Landing be doing in this part of the town? He +was one of the city's successful men, but he did not know his city. +Disagreeable sights and sounds had by him been hitherto avoided, and +in this section they were chiefly what was found. Why should he have +come to it? That he was selfish and absorbed in his own affairs, that +he was conventional and tradition—trained, was as true to-day, +perhaps, as when she had told him so three years ago, but had they +taught him nothing, these three years that were past? Did he still +think, still believe—</p> + +<p>With a restless movement she turned in her chair, and her hands +twisted in her lap. Was she not still as stubborn as of old, still as +proud and impatient of restraint where her sense of freedom and +independence of action were in question, still as self-willed? And was +it true, what Carmencita had said—was she giving herself to others +and refusing herself to the only one who had the right to claim her, +the royal right of love?</p> + +<p>But how did she know he still needed her, wanted her? When she had +returned to her own city after long absence she had told of her +present place of residence to but few of her old friends. Her own +sorrow, her own sudden facing of the inevitable and unescapable, had +brought her sharply to a realization of how little she was doing with +the time that was hers, and she had been honest and sincere when she +had come to Mother McNeil's and asked to be shown the side of life she +had hitherto known but little—the sordid, sinful, struggling side in +which children especially had so small a chance. In these years of +absence he had made no sign. Even if it were true, what Carmencita had +said, that he—that is, a man named Van Something—was looking for +her, until he found her she could not tell him where she was.</p> + +<p>She had not wished her friends to know. Settlements and society were +as oil and water, and for the present the work she had undertaken +needed all her time and thought. If only people knew, if only people +understood, the things that she now knew and had come to understand, +the inequalities and injustices of life would no longer sting and +darken and embitter as they stung and darkened and embittered now, and +if she and Stephen could work together—</p> + +<p>He was living in the same place, his offices were in the same place, +and he worked relentlessly, she was told. Although he did not know she +was in the city, she knew much of him, knew of his practical +withdrawal from the old life, knew of a certain cynicism that was +becoming settled; and a thousand times she had blamed herself for the +unhappiness that was his as well as hers. She loved her work, would +always be glad that she had lived among the people who were so +singularly like those other people who thought themselves so +different, but if he still needed her, wanted her, was it not her +duty—</p> + +<p>With an impatient movement of her hands she got up and went over to +the window. There was no duty about it. It was love that called him to +her. She should not have let Carmencita go without finding from her +how it happened that she had met Stephen Van Landing on Custer Street. +She must go to Carmencita and ask her. If he were really looking for +her they might spend Christmas together. The blood surged hotly to her +face, and the beating of her heart made her hands unsteady. If +together—</p> + +<p>A noise behind made her turn. Hand on the door-knob, Carmencita was +standing in the hall, her head inside the room. All glow was gone, and +hope and excitement had yielded to dejection and despair.</p> + +<p>"I just came to beg your pardon for—for stamping my foot, and I'm +sorry I said what I did." The big blue eyes looked down on the floor +and one foot twisted around the other. "It isn't any use to forgive +me. I'm not worth forgiving. I'm not worth—"</p> + +<p>The door was slammed violently, and before Miss Barbour could reach +the hall Carmencita was down the steps and out into the street, where +the Damanarkist was waiting.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI" />CHAPTER XI</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 76px;"> +<img src="images/11.png" width="76" height="120" alt="L" title="" /> +</div><p>ate into the night Stephen Van Landing kept up his hurried walking. +Again and again he had stopped and made inquiries of policemen, of +children, of men and women, but no one knew that of which he asked. A +blind man who played the harp, a child named Carmencita, a boy called +Noodles, a settlement house, he supposed, over which Mother Somebody +presided—these were all he had to go on. To ask concerning Miss +Barbour was impossible. He could not bring himself to call her name. +He would have to go to headquarters for help. To-morrow would be +Christmas eve. He <i>would not</i> spend Christmas alone—or in the usual +way.</p> + +<p>"Say, mister, don't you wish you was a boy again? Get out the way!"</p> + +<p>With a push the boy swept by him, pulling on a self-constructed sleigh +a still smaller boy, and behind the two swarmed a bunch of yelling +youngsters who, as they passed, pelted him with snow. One of them +stopped to tie the string of his shoe, and, looking down, Van Landing +saw—Noodles.</p> + +<p>With a swift movement he reached down to grab him, but, thinking it +was a cop, the boy was up and gone with a flash and in half a moment +was out of sight. As swiftly as the boy Van Landing ran down the +street and turned the corner he had seen the boy turn. His heart was +beating thickly, his breath came unevenly, and the snow was blinding, +but there was no thought of stopping. He bumped into a man coming +toward him, and two hats flew in the air and on the pavement, but he +went on. The hat did not matter, only Noodles mattered, and Noodles +could no longer be seen. Down the street, around first one corner and +then another, he kept on in fierce pursuit for some moments; then, +finding breathing difficult, he paused and leaned against the step +railing of a high porch, to better get his bearings. Disappointment +and fury were overmastering him. It was impossible and absurd to have +within one's grasp what one had been looking for all day and part of +two nights, and have it slip away like that.</p> + +<p>"Come on. No use—that—" The policeman's voice was surly. "If you'll +walk quiet I won't ring up. If you don't you'll get a free ride. Come +on."</p> + +<p>"Come on?" Van Landing put his hand to his head. His hat was gone. He +looked down at his feet. They were soaking wet. His overcoat was +glazed with a coating of fine particles of ice, and his hands were +trembling. He had eaten practically nothing since his lunch of +Tuesday, had walked many miles, and slept but a few hours after a +night of anxious searching, and suddenly he felt faint and sick.</p> + +<p>"Come on?" he repeated. "Come where?"</p> + +<p>"Where you belong." The policeman's grasp was steadying. "Hurry up. I +can't wait here all night."</p> + +<p>"Neither can I." Van Landing took out his handkerchief and wiped his +face. "I wish you'd get my hat." The crowd was pressing closer. He was +losing time and must get away. Besides, he could not trust himself. +The man's manner was insolent, and he was afraid he would kick him. +Instead he slipped some money in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Mistake, my friend. You'd have your trouble for nothing if you took +me in. There's no charge save running. I want to find a boy who +passed me just now. Name is Noodles. Know him?"</p> + +<p>For a moment the cop hesitated. The man's voice, dress, manner, were +not the sort seen in this section, and the bill slipped in his hand +had a yellow tinge—still—</p> + +<p>"I've dropped my hat. Get it, will you?" Van Landing threw some change +in the still gathering crowd, and as they scampered for it he turned +to the policeman, then caught hold of the railing. A hateful faintness +was coming over him again. On the edge of the crowd a girl with a +middle-aged woman had stopped, and the girl was making her way toward +him.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mr. Cronklin? Not one of our boys?" The clear voice +reached him as if at his side. He steadied himself, stared, and tried +to speak.</p> + +<p>"Frances," he said, and held out his hands. "You've made me walk so +far, Frances, and Christmas is—"</p> + +<p>In the snow his feet slipped. The cop was such a fool. He had never +fainted in his life.</p> + +<p>Some one was standing near him. Who was it, and where was he? This +wasn't his room. On his elbow, he looked around. Nothing was +familiar. It must be a woman's room; he could see photographs and a +pin-cushion on the bureau, and flowers were growing on a table near +the window. The bed he was in was small and white. His was big and +brass. What had happened? Slowly it came to him, and he started to get +up, then fell back. The surge of blood receded, and again there was +giddiness. Had he lost her? Had she, too, slipped out of his hands +because of his confounded fall? It was a durned outrage that he should +have fallen. Who was that man with his back to the bed?</p> + +<p>The man turned. "All right, are you? That's good!" His pulse was felt +with professional fingers, but in the doctor's voice was frank +interest. "You were pretty nearly frozen, man. It's well she saw you."</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" Van Landing sat up. "Where are my clothes? I must get +up."</p> + +<p>"I guess not." The doctor laughed, but his tone was as decisive as his +act. Van Landing was pushed back on the pillow and the covering pulled +up. "Do you mean Miss Barbour?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Where is Miss Barbour?"</p> + +<p>The doctor wrote something on a slip of paper. "Down-stairs, waiting +to hear how you are. I'll go down and tell her. I'll see you in the +morning."</p> + +<p>"Where am I? Whose house is this?"</p> + +<p>"Your house at present." The doctor laughed again. "It's Mother +McNeil's house, but all who need it use it, and you needed it, all +right. You struck your head on the bottom step of the porch three +doors from here. Had it been an inch nearer the temple—Pretty bad +knock-out, as it was, but you'll be all right to-morrow. If you wake +up in a couple of hours take another one of these"—a pill was +obediently swallowed—"but you're to see no one until I see you again. +No talking."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, but I must see Miss Barbour." In Van Landing's voice was sharp +fear. "Christmas isn't over yet? I haven't missed it, have I? Are you +sure she's in this house?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. She's getting ready for to-morrow. To-morrow will be the +busiest day in the year. It's Christmas eve."</p> + +<p>Van Landing slipped down in the bed and his face went deep in the +pillows. Reaction was on. A horrible fear that he was going to cry, +going to do some abominably childish thing, made him stuff the +covering in his mouth and press his feet hard against the foot of the +bed. He would <i>not</i> be cheated out of Christmas! He had believed he +hated it, thought he wanted to be dead during it, and now if it were +over and nothing done—Presently he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may speak to her in the +morning—before she goes out? My name is Van Landing—Stephen Van +Landing. I was a friend of hers once."</p> + +<p>"One now." The doctor's voice was dryly emphatic. "Lucky she +recognized you. Rather startled her, finding an old friend so +unexpectedly." Over his spectacles his kind, shrewd eyes looked down +on the man in the bed. "I'll see her. Miss Barbour is an exceptional +woman, but she's a woman, which means when she knows you are all right +she may not have time to see you. At present she's outside your door. +That's her knock. Guess she's got the milk."</p> + +<p>With breath held, Van Landing listened. Very low were the words +spoken, then the door was closed again. His heart was calling to her. +The long and empty years in which he had hoped against hope, and yet +could make no effort to find her, faded as mist fades before the light +that dawns and glows; and to say no word when she was near, to hold +hands still that longed to outstretch, to make no sign when he would +kneel for pardon at her feet—it was not to be endured. He would not +wait; the doctor must let her in!</p> + +<p>But it was not the doctor who was at his bed. It was a short, plump +woman of more than middle age, with twinkling gray eyes and firm, kind +hands and a cheery voice.</p> + +<p>"It's the milk, my son," she said, and the steaming glass was held to +his lips. "When you've had it you will sleep like a baby. It's warm, +are you—and the feet good and hot? Let me feel that water-bag? Bless +my soul if it's even lukewarm, and your feet still shivery! It's no +wonder, for they were ice itself when they brought you in."</p> + +<p>With dexterous fingers the hot-water bag was withdrawn from the foot +of the bed and Mother McNeil was out of the room. Back again, she +slipped it close to his feet, tucked in the covering, patted the +pillows, and, lowering the light, turned to leave the room. At the +door she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you're needing, my son—anything I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>For a moment there was silence, broken only by the ticking of a tiny +clock on the mantel, then Van Landing spoke.</p> + +<p>"Yes." His voice was boyishly low. "Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may +see her to-morrow before she goes out? I <i>must</i> see her."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will. And you can tell her how it happened that you were +right near our door when you fell, and you didn't even know she was in +town. Very few of her up-town friends know. There wasn't time for both +up-town and down-town, and there were things she wanted to find out. +She tells me you are an old friend, and I'm glad you've come across +each other again. It pleases some folks to believe in chance, but I +get more comfort thinking God has His own way. Good night, Mr. Van +Landing. Good dreams—good dreams!"</p> + +<p>The door was closed softly, and under the bedclothes Van Landing again +buried his face in the pillows, and his lips twitched. Chance—was it +chance or was it God? If only God would give him a chance!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII" />CHAPTER XII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/12.png" width="73" height="120" alt="H" title="" /> +</div><p>e was too tired, too utterly relaxed by warmth and medicine, to think +clearly. To-morrow he would find Carmencita, and she should get the +things the children wanted. They were very strange, the places and +people he had seen to-day. Of course he had known about such places +and people, read about them, heard about them, but seeing for one's +self was different. There were a lot of bummers among these people he +had passed; much of their misery was of their own making (he had made +much of his), but the wonder was they were no worse.</p> + +<p>Bold, bad faces, cold, pinched, hungry ones, eager, earnest, pathetic +and joyous, worn and weary, burdened and care-free, they again passed +before him, misty and ill-defined, as though the snow still veiled and +made them hazy, and none of them he knew. He wished they would stop +passing. He was very tired. They, too, were tired. Would they for +ever be passing before him, these people, these little children, he +had seen to-day? If they would go away he could think more clearly, +could think of Frances. She was here, in the house with him. At first +it had seemed strange, but it wasn't strange. It would be strange if +she were not here when he needed her, wanted her so. To-morrow would +not be too late. One could do a good deal on Christmas eve. Everybody +had been busy except himself. He would telephone to-morrow and tell +Herrick to close the office and give Miss Davis holiday until after +New-Year.</p> + +<p>But she had nowhere to go. He had heard her tell Herrick so, and +Herrick had nowhere to go, either. Both lived in boarding-houses, he +supposed. He had never thought to ask. Herrick was a faithful old +plodder—never would be anything else—but he couldn't get on without +him. He ought to raise his salary. Why didn't Herrick ask for more +money if he wanted it? And then he could get married. Why didn't he +get married, anyhow? Once or twice he had seen him talking to Miss +Davis about something that evidently wasn't business. She was a pretty +little thing and quick as lightning—just the opposite of old +Herrick. Wouldn't it be funny if they were in love; not, of course, +like—</p> + +<p>They had nowhere to go Christmas. If Frances would let them they might +come here—no, not here, but at his home, their home. His home was +Frances's. It wouldn't be home for him if it weren't for her also. He +would ask her. And Carmencita and her blind father, they could come, +too. It would be horrible to have a Christmas dinner of sardines or +toasted cheese and crackers—or one in a boarding-house. Other people +might think it queer that he should have accidentally met Carmencita, +and that Carmencita should have mentioned the name of Miss Barbour, +and that he should have walked miles and miles—it must have been +thousands of miles—trying to find her, and, after all, did not find +her. She found him. But it wasn't queer. He had been looking for her +ever since—for three years he had been looking for her, and what one +looks for long enough one always finds. +To-morrow—to-morrow—would—be—Christmas eve.</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes slowly. The sun was blinding, and he blinked. +Mother McNeil and the doctor were standing at the foot of the bed, +and as he rubbed his eyes they laughed.</p> + +<p>"It's a merry Christmas you're to have, my son, after all, and it's +wanting to be up and after it you are, if I'm a judge of looks." And +Van Landing's hand, holding the coverlid close to his neck, was patted +understandingly by Mother McNeil. "Last night the doctor was a bit +worried about your head—you took your time in coming to—but I didn't +believe it was as bad as he feared, and it's well it wasn't, for it's +a grand day in which to be living, and you'll need your head. Is it +coffee or tea, now, that you like best for breakfast? And an egg and a +bit of toast, doctor, I think will taste well. I'll get them." And +without answer Mother McNeil was gone.</p> + +<p>The doctor sat down, felt his patient's pulse, took his temperature, +investigated the cut on the forehead, then got up. "You're all right." +His tone was one of gruff relief. "One inch nearer your temple, +however—You can get up if you wish. Good day." And he, too, was gone +before Van Landing could ask a question or say a word of thanks.</p> + +<p>It was bewildering, perplexing, embarrassing, and for a moment he +hesitated. Then he got up. He was absurdly shaky, but his head was +clear, and in his heart humility that was new and sweet. The day was +great, and the sun was shining as on yesterday one would not have +dreamed it could ever shine again. Going over to the door, he locked +it and hurriedly began to dress. His clothes had a rough, dry +appearance that made them hardly recognizable, and to get on his +shoes, which evidently had been dried near the furnace, was difficult. +In the small mirror over the bureau, as he tied his cravat, his face +reflected varying emotions: disgust at his soiled collar, relief that +he was up again, and gratitude that made a certain cynicism, of late +becoming too well defined, fade into quiet purpose.</p> + +<p>Unlocking the door, he went back to the window and looked across at +the long row of houses, as alike as shriveled peas in a dry pod, and +down on the snow-covered streets. Brilliantly the sun touched here and +there a bit of cornice below a dazzling gleaming roof, and threw rays +of rainbow light on window-pane and iron rail, outlined or hidden +under frozen foam; and the dirt and ugliness of the usual day were +lost in the white hush of mystery.</p> + +<p>Not for long would there be transforming effect of the storm, +however. Already the snow was being shoveled from door-steps and +sidewalks, and the laughter of the boys as they worked, the scraping +of their shovels, the rumble of wagon-wheels, which were making deep +brown ruts in the middle of the street, reached him with the muffled +sound of something far away, and, watching, he missed no detail of +what was going on below.</p> + +<p>"Goodness gracious! I've almost cried myself to death! And she found +you—found you!"</p> + +<p>Van Landing turned sharply. The door was open, though he had not heard +the knock, and with a spring Carmencita was beside him, holding his +hands and dancing as if demented with a joy no longer to be held in +restraint.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Van, I've almost died for fear I wouldn't find you in time! +And you're here at Mother McNeil's, and all yesterday I looked and +looked, and I couldn't remember your last name, and neither could +Father. And Miss Frances was away until night, and I never prayed so +hard and looked so hard in my life! Oh, Mr. Van, if you are a +stranger, I love you, and I'm so glad you're found!"</p> + +<p>She stopped for breath, and Van Landing, stooping, lifted Carmencita's +face and kissed it.</p> + +<p>"You are my dear friend, Carmencita." His voice, as his hands, was a +bit shaky. "I, too, am very glad—and grateful. Will you ask her to +come, ask her to let me see her? I cannot wait any longer."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to." Carmencita's eyes were big and blue in sudden +seriousness. "The Little Big Sisters have their tree to-night, and +she's got a million trillion things to do to-day, and she's gone out. +She's awful glad you're better, though. I asked her, and she said she +was. And I asked her why she didn't marry you right straight away, or +to-morrow if she didn't have time to-day, and—"</p> + +<p>"You did what, Carmencita?"</p> + +<p>"That. I asked her that. What's the use of wasting time? I told her +you'd like a wife for a Christmas gift very much, if she was the wife. +Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you really and truly rather have her than +anything else?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing turned and looked out of the window. The child's eyes and +earnest, eager face could not be met in the surge of hot blood which +swept over him, and his throat grew tight. All his theories and ideas +were becoming but confused upheaval in the manipulations of fate, or +what you will, that were bringing strange things to pass, and he no +longer could think clearly or feel calmly. He must get away before he +saw Frances.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>In the voice beside him was shy entreaty and appeal, and, hands +clasped behind her, Carmencita waited.</p> + +<p>"I would." Van Landing made effort to smile, but in his eyes was no +smiling. Into them had come sudden purpose. "I shall ask her to marry +me to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Arms extended to the limit of their length, Carmencita whirled round +and round the room, then, breathless, stopped and, taking Van +Landing's hand, lifted it to her lips.</p> + +<p>"I kiss your hand, my lord, and bring you greetings from your faithful +subjects! I read that in a book. I'll be the subject. Isn't it grand +and magnificent and glorious?" She stopped. "She hasn't any new +clothes. A lady can't get married without new clothes, can she? And +she won't have time to get any on Christmas eve. Whether she'll do it +or not, you'll have to make her, Mr. Van, or you'll lose her again. +You've—got—to—just—make—her!"</p> + +<p>Carmencita's long slender forefinger made a jab in Van Landing's +direction, and her head nodded with each word uttered. But before he +could answer, Mother McNeil, with breakfast on a tray, was in the room +and Carmencita was out.</p> + +<p>Sitting down beside him, as he asked her to do, Van Landing told her +how it happened he was there, told her who he was. Miss Barbour was +under her care. She had once been his promised wife. He was trying to +find her when he fell, or fainted, or whatever it was, that he might +ask her again to marry him. Would she help him?</p> + +<p>In puzzled uncertainty Mother McNeil had listened, fine little folds +wrinkling her usually smooth forehead, and her keen eyes searching the +face before her; then she got up.</p> + +<p>"I might have known it would end like this. Well, why not?" Hands on +her hips, she smiled in the flushed face looking into hers. Van +Landing had risen, and his hands, holding the back of his chair, +twitched badly. "The way of love is the way of life. If she will marry +you—God bless you, I will say. It's women like Frances the work we're +in is needing. But it's women like her that men need, too. She's out, +but she asked me to wish you a very happy Christmas."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII" />CHAPTER XIII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/13.png" width="73" height="120" alt="A" title="" /> +</div><p> very happy Christmas!" Van Landing smiled. "How can I have it +without—When can I see her, Mother McNeil?"</p> + +<p>At the open door Mother McNeil turned. "She has some shopping to do. +Yesterday two more families were turned over to us. Sometimes she gets +lunch at the Green Tea-pot on Samoset Street. She will be home at +four. The children come at eight, and the tree is to be dressed before +they get here." A noise made her look around. "Carmencita,—you are +out of breath, child! It's never you will learn to walk, I'm fearing!"</p> + +<p>Carmencita, who had run down the hall as one pursued, stopped, pulled +up her stocking, and made effort to fasten it to its supporter. +"Christmas in my legs," she said. "Can't expect feet to walk on +Christmas eve. I've got to tell him something, Mother McNeil. Will +you excuse me, please, if I tell him by himself?"</p> + +<p>Coming inside the room, Carmencita pulled Van Landing close to her and +closed the door, and for half a minute paused for breath.</p> + +<p>"It was Her. It was Miss Barbour at the telephone, and she says I must +meet her at the Green Tea-pot at two o'clock and have lunch with her +and tell her about the Barlow babies and old Miss Parker and some +others who don't go to Charities for their Christmas—and she says I +can help buy the things. Glory! I'm glad I'm living!" She stopped. "I +didn't tell her a word about you, but—Have you got a watch?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing looked at his watch, then put it back. "I have a watch, +but no hat. I lost my hat last night chasing Noodles. It's nine +o'clock. I'm going to the Green Tea-pot at two to take lunch also. +Want to go with me?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going with you. You are going with me." Carmencita made +effort to look tall. "That's what I came to tell you. And you can ask +her there. I won't listen. I won't even look, and—"</p> + +<p>Van Landing took up his overcoat, hesitated, and then put it on. "I've +never had a sure-enough Christmas, Carmencita. Why can't I get those +things for the kiddies you spoke of, and save Miss Barbour the +trouble? She has so much to do, it isn't fair to put more on her. +Then, too—"</p> + +<p>"You can have her by yourself after we eat, can't you? Where can you +go?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't thought yet. Where do you suppose? She ought to rest."</p> + +<p>"Rest!" Carmencita's voice was shrilly scornful. "Rest—on Christmas +eve. Besides, there isn't a spot to do it in. Every one has bundles in +it." Hands clasped, her forehead puckered in fine folds, then she +looked up. "Is—is it a nice house you live in? It's all right, isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>"It is considered so. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because what's the use of waiting until to-morrow to get married? If +she'll have you you all could stop in that little church near the +Green Tea-pot and the man could marry you, and then she could go on up +to your house and rest while you finished your Christmas things, and +then you could go for her and bring her down here to help fix the +Christmas tree, and to-morrow you could have Christmas at home. +Wouldn't it be grand?" Carmencita was on tiptoe, and again her arms +were flung in the air. Poised as if for flight, her eyes were on the +ceiling. Her voice changed. "The roof of this house leaks. It ought to +be fixed."</p> + +<p>Van Landing opened the door. "Your plan is an excellent one, +Carmencita. I like it immensely, but there's a chance that Miss +Barbour may not agree. Women have ways of their own in matters of +marriage. I do not even know that she will marry me at all."</p> + +<p>"Then she's got mighty little sense, which isn't so, for she's got a +lot. She knows what she wants, all right, and if she likes you she +likes you, and if she don't, she don't, and she don't make out she +does. Did—did you fuss?"</p> + +<p>"We didn't fuss." Van Landing smiled slightly. "We didn't agree about +certain things."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious! You don't want to marry an agree-er, do you? Mrs. +Barlow's one. Everything her husband thinks, she thinks, too, and +sometimes he can't stand her another minute. Where are you going now?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to telephone for a taxi-cab. Then I'm going home to change +my clothes and get a hat, and then I'm going to my office to look +after some matters there; then I'm going with you to do some +shopping, and then I'm going to the Green Tea-pot to meet Miss +Barbour. If you could go with me now it would save time. Can you go?"</p> + +<p>"If I can tell Father first. Wait for me, will you?"</p> + +<p>Around the corner Carmencita flew, and was back as the taxi-cab +stopped at Mother McNeil's door. Getting in, she sat upright and shut +her eyes. Van Landing was saying good-by and expressing proper +appreciation and mentally making notes of other forms of expression to +be made later; and as she waited her breath came in long, delicious +gasps through her half-parted lips. Presently she stooped over and +pinched her legs.</p> + +<p>"My legs," she said, "same ones. And my cheeks and my hair"—the +latter was pulled with vigor—"and my feet and my hands—all me, and +in a taxi-cab going Christmas shopping and maybe to a marriage, and I +didn't know he was living last week! Father says I mustn't speak to +people I don't know, but how can you know them if you don't speak? I +was born lucky, and I'm so glad I'm living that if I was a rooster I'd +crow. Oh, Mr. Van, are you ready?"</p> + +<p>The next few hours to Carmencita were the coming true of dreams that +had long been denied, and from one thrill to another she passed in a +delicious ecstasy which made pinching of some part of her body +continually necessary. While Van Landing dressed she waited in his +library, wandering in wide-eyed awe and on tiptoe from one part of the +room to the other, touching here and there with the tips of her +fingers a book or picture or piece of furniture, and presently in +front of a footstool she knelt down and closed her eyes.</p> + +<p>Quickly, however, she opened them and, with head on the side, looked +around and listened. This wasn't a time to be seen. The silence +assuring, she again shut her eyes very tight and the palms of her +hands, uplifted, were pressed together.</p> + +<p>"Please, dear God, I just want to thank you," she began. "It's awful +sudden and unexpected having a day like this, and I don't guess +to-morrow will be much, not a turkey Christmas or anything like that, +but to-day is grand. I'd say more, but some one is coming. Amen." And +with a scramble she was on her feet, the stool behind her, as Van +Landing came in the room.</p> + +<p>The ride to the office through crowded streets was breathlessly +thrilling, and during it Carmencita did not speak. At the window of +the taxi she pressed her face so closely that the glass had +continually to be wiped lest the cloud made by her breath prevent her +seeing clearly; and, watching her, Van Landing smiled. What an odd, +elfish, wistful little face it was—keen, alert, intelligent, it +reflected every emotion that filled her, and her emotions were many. +In her long, ill-fitting coat and straw hat, in the worn shoes and +darned gloves, she was a study that puzzled and perplexed, and at +thought of her future he frowned. What became of them—these children +with little chance? Was it to try and learn and help that Frances was +living in their midst?</p> + +<p>In his office Herrick and Miss Davis were waiting. Work had been +pretty well cleared up, and there was little to be done, and as Van +Landing saw them the memory of his half-waking, half-dreaming thought +concerning them came to him, and furtively he looked from one to the +other.</p> + +<p>In a chair near the window, hands in her lap and feet on the rounds, +Carmencita waited, her eyes missing no detail of the scene about her, +and at Miss Davis, who came over to talk to her, she looked with +frank admiration. For a moment there was hesitating uncertainty in Van +Landing's face; then he turned to Herrick.</p> + +<p>"Come into the next room, will you, Herrick? I want to speak to you a +minute."</p> + +<p>What he was going to say he did not know. Herrick was such a steady +old chap, from him radiated such uncomplaining patience, about him was +such aloofness concerning his private affairs, that to speak to him on +personal matters was difficult. He handed him cigars and lighted one +himself.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to close the office, Herrick, until after New-Year," he +began. "I thought perhaps you might like to go away."</p> + +<p>"I would." Herrick, whose cigar was unlighted, smiled slightly. "But I +don't think I'll go."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>Herrick hesitated, and his face flushed. He was nearing forty, and his +hair was already slightly gray. "There are several reasons," he said, +quietly. "Until I am able to be married I do not care to go away. She +would be alone, and Christmas alone—"</p> + +<p>"Is—is it Miss Davis, Herrick?" Van Landing's voice was strangely +shy; then he held out his hand. "You're a lucky man, Herrick. I +congratulate you. Why didn't you tell me before; and if you want to +get married, why not? What's the use of waiting? The trip's on me. +Christmas alone—I forgot to say I've intended for some time to raise +your salary. You deserve it, and it was thoughtlessness that made me +put it off." He sat down at his desk and took his check-book out of a +spring-locked drawer and wrote hastily upon it. "That may help to +start things, Herrick, and if there's any other way—"</p> + +<p>In Herrick's astonished face the blood pumped deep and red, and as he +took the check Van Landing put in his hands his fingers twitched +nervously. It was beyond belief that Van Landing should have +guessed—and the check! It would mean the furnishing of the little +flat they had looked at yesterday and hoped would stay unrented for a +few months longer; meant a trip, and a little put aside to add to +their slow savings. Now that his sister was married and his brother +out of school, he could save more, but with this—He tried to speak, +then turned away and walked over to the window.</p> + +<p>"Call her in, Herrick, and let's have it settled. Why not get the +license to-day and be married to-morrow? Oh, Miss Davis!" He opened +the door and beckoned to his stenographer, who was showing Carmencita +her typewriter. "Come in, will you? Never mind. We'll come in there."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV" />CHAPTER XIV</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 74px;"> +<img src="images/14.png" width="74" height="120" alt="M" title="" /> +</div><p>iss Davis, who had risen, stood with one hand on her desk; the other +went to her lips. Something was the matter. What was it?</p> + +<p>"I hope you won't mind Carmencita knowing." Van Landing drew the child +to him. "She is an admirable arranger and will like to help, I'm sure. +Miss Davis and Mr. Herrick are going to be married to-morrow, +Carmencita, and spend their holiday—wherever they choose. Why, Miss +Davis—why, you've never done like this before!"</p> + +<p>Miss Davis was again in her chair, and, with arms on her desk and face +buried in them, her shoulders were making little twitchy movements. +She was trying desperately hard to keep back something that mustn't be +heard, and in a flash Carmencita was on her knees beside her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Davis, I don't know you much, but I'm so glad, and of course +it's awful exciting to get married without knowing you're going to do +it; but you mustn't cry, Miss Davis—you mustn't, really!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not crying." Head up, the pretty brown eyes, wet and shining, +looked first at Herrick and then at Van Landing, and a handkerchief +wiped two quivering lips. "I'm not crying, only—only it's so sudden, +and to-morrow is Christmas, and a boarding-house Christmas—" Again +the flushed face was buried in her arms and tears came hot and +fast—happy, blinding tears.</p> + +<p>Moving chairs around that were not in the way, going to the window and +back again, locking up what did not require locking, putting on his +hat and taking it off without knowing what he was doing, Van Landing, +nevertheless, managed in an incredibly short time to accomplish a good +many things and to make practical arrangements. Herrick and Miss Davis +were to come to his apartment at one o'clock to-morrow and bring the +minister. They would be married at once and have dinner immediately +after with him—and with a friend or two, perhaps. Carmencita and her +father would also be there, and they could leave for a trip as soon as +they wished. They must hurry; there was no time to lose—not a +minute.</p> + +<p>With a few words to the office-boy, the elevator-boy, the janitor, and +additional remembrances left with the latter for the charwoman, the +watchman, and several others not around, they were out in the street +and Carmencita again helped in the cab.</p> + +<p>For a moment there was dazed silence, then she turned to Van Landing. +"Would you mind sticking this in me?" she asked, and handed him a bent +pin. "Is—is it really sure-enough what we've been doing, or am I +making up. Stick hard, please—real hard."</p> + +<p>Van Landing laughed. "No need for the pin." He threw it away. "You're +awake, all right. I've been asleep a long time, and you—have waked +me, Carmencita."</p> + +<p>For two delicious hours the child led and Van Landing followed. In and +out of stores they went with quickness and decision, and soon on the +seat and on the floor of the cab boxes and bundles of many shapes and +sizes were piled, and then Carmencita said there should be nothing +else.</p> + +<p>"It's awful wickedness, Mr. Van, to spend so much." Her head nodded +vigorously. "The children will go crazy, and so will their mothers, +and they'll pop open if they eat some of all the things you've bought +for them, and we mustn't get another one. It's been grand, but—You're +not drunk, are you, Mr. Van, and don't know what you're doing?"</p> + +<p>Her voice trailed off anxiously, and in her eyes came sudden, sober +fear.</p> + +<p>Again Van Landing laughed. "I think perhaps I am drunk, but not in the +way you mean, Carmencita. It's a matter of spirits, however. Something +has gone to my head, or perhaps it's my heart. But I know very well +what I'm doing. There's one thing more. I forgot to tell you. I have a +little friend who has done a good deal for me. I want to get her a +present or two—some clothes and things that girls like. Your size, I +think, would fit her. I'd like—"</p> + +<p>"Is she rich or poor?"</p> + +<p>Van Landing hesitated. "She is rich. She has a wonderful imagination +and can see all sorts of things that others don't see, and her friends +are—"</p> + +<p>"Kings and queens, and fairies and imps, and ghosts and devils. I +know. I've had friends like that. Does she like pink or blue?"</p> + +<p>"I think she likes—blue." Again Van Landing hesitated. Silks and +satins might be Carmencita's choice. Silks and satins would not do. "I +don't mean she has money, and I believe she'd rather have practical +things."</p> + +<p>"No, she wouldn't! Girls hate practical things." The long, loose, +shabby coat was touched lightly. "This is practical. Couldn't she have +one pair of shiny slippers, just one, with buckles on them? Maybe +she's as Cinderellary as I am. I'd rather stick my foot out with a +diamond-buckle slipper on it than eat. I do when my princess friends +call, and they always say: 'Oh, Carmencita, what a charming foot you +have!' And that's it. <i>That</i>!" And Carmencita's foot with it's coarse +and half-worn shoe was held out at full length. "But we've got to +hurry, or we won't be at the Green Tea-pot by two o'clock. Come on."</p> + +<p>With amazing discrimination Carmencita made her purchases, and only +once or twice did she overstep the limitations of practicality and +insist upon a present that could be of little use to its recipient. +For the giving of joy the selection of a pair of shining slippers, a +blue satin sash, and a string of amber beads were eminently suitable, +however, and, watching, Van Landing saw her eyes gleam over the +precious possessions she was supposedly buying for some one else, a +child of her own age, and he made no objection to the selections made.</p> + +<p>"Even if she don't wear them she will have them." And Carmencita drew +a long, deep sigh of satisfaction. "It's so nice to know you have got +something you can peep at every now and then. It's like eating when +you're hungry. Oh, I do hope she'll like them! Is it two, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>It was ten minutes to two, and, putting Carmencita into the +bundle-packed cab, Van Landing ordered the latter to the Green +Tea-pot, then, getting in, leaned back, took off his hat, and wiped +his forehead. Tension seemed suddenly to relax and his heart for a +moment beat thickly; then with a jerk he sat upright. Carmencita was +again absorbed in watching the crowds upon the streets, and, when the +cab stopped, jumped as if awakened from a dream.</p> + +<p>"Are we here already? Oh, my goodness! There she is!"</p> + +<p>Miss Barbour was going in the doorway, and as Van Landing saw the +straight, slender figure, caught the turn of the head, held in the way +that was hers alone, the years that were gone slipped out of memory +and she was his again. His—With a swift movement he was out of the +cab and on the street and about to follow her when Carmencita touched +him on the arm.</p> + +<p>"Let me go first. She doesn't know you're coming. We'll get a table +near the door."</p> + +<p>The crowd separated them, but through it Carmencita wriggled her way +quickly and disappeared. Waiting, Van Landing saw her rush up to Miss +Barbour, then slip in a chair at a table whose occupants were leaving, +and motion Frances to do the same. As the tired little waitress, after +taking off the soiled cloth and putting on a fresh one, went away for +necessary equipment Van Landing opened the door and walked in and to +the table and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"You would not let me thank you this morning. May I thank you now +for—"</p> + +<p>[Illustration: "YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I +THANK YOU NOW FOR—"]</p> + +<p>"Finding him?" Carmencita leaned halfway over the table, and her big +blue eyes looked anxiously at first one and then the other. "He was +looking for you, Miss Frances; he'd been looking all day and all night +because he'd just heard you were somewhere down here, and he's come to +have lunch with us, and—Oh, it's Christmas, Miss Frances, and please +tell him—say something, do something! He's been waiting three +years, and he can't wait another minute. Gracious! that smells good!"</p> + +<p>The savory dish that passed caused a turn in Carmencita's head, and +Frances Barbour, looking into the eyes that were looking into hers, +held out her hand. At sight of Van Landing her face had colored +richly, then the color had left it, leaving it white, and in her eyes +was that he had never seen before.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing for which to thank me." Her voice with its freshness +and sweetness stirred as of old, but it was low. She smiled slightly. +"I am very glad you are all right this morning. I did not know you +knew our part of the town." Her hand was laid on Carmencita's.</p> + +<p>"I didn't until I met your little friend. I had never been in it +before. I know it now very well."</p> + +<p>"And he was so fighting mad because he couldn't see you when I sent +the note that he went out, not knowing where he was or how to get +back, and when his senses came on again and he tried to find out he +couldn't find, and he walked 'most all night and was lost like people +in a desert who go round and round. And the next day he walked all +day long and 'most froze, and he'd passed Mother McNeil's house a +dozen times and didn't know it; and he was chasing Noodles and just +leaning against that railing when the cop came and you came. Oh, Miss +Frances, it's Christmas! Won't you please make up and—When are we +going to eat?"</p> + +<p>Miss Barbour's hand closed over Carmencita's twisting ones, and into +her face again sprang color; then she laughed. "We are very hungry, +Mr. Van Landing. Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?"</p> + +<p>An hour later Carmencita leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap +and eyes closed. Presently one hand went out. "Don't ask me anything +for a minute, will you? I've got to think about something. When you're +ready to go let me know."</p> + +<p>Through the meal Carmencita's flow of words and flow of spirits had +saved the silences that fell, in spite of effort, between Van Landing +and Miss Barbour, and under the quiet poise so characteristic of her +he had seen her breath come unsteadily. Could he make her care for him +again? With eyes no longer guarded he looked at her, leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"From here," he said, "where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Home. I mean to Mother McNeil's. Carmencita says you and she have +done my shopping." She smiled slightly and lifted a glass of water to +her lips. "The tree is to be dressed this afternoon, and to-night the +children come."</p> + +<p>"And I—when can I come?"</p> + +<p>"You?" She glanced at Carmencita, who was now sitting with her chin on +the back of her chair, arms clasping the latter, watching the strange +and fascinating scene of people ordering what they wanted to eat and +eating as much of it as they wanted. "I don't know. I am very busy. +After Christmas, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"You mean for me there is to be no Christmas? Am I to be for ever kept +outside, Frances?"</p> + +<p>"Outside?" She looked up and away. "I have no home. We are +both—outside. To have no home at Christmas is—" Quickly she got up. +"We must go. It is getting late, and there is much to do."</p> + +<p>For one swift moment she let his eyes hold hers, and in his burned all +the hunger of the years of loss; then, taking up her muff, she went +toward the door. On the street she hesitated, then held out her hand. +"Good-by, Mr. Van Landing. I hope you will have a happy Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" Van Landing opened the cab door. "Get in, please. I will +come in another cab." Stooping, he pushed aside some boxes and bundles +and made room for Carmencita. "I'll be around at four to help dress +the tree. Wait until I come." He nodded to the cabman; then, lifting +his hat, he closed the door with a click and, turning, walked away.</p> + +<p>"Carmencita! oh, Carmencita!" Into the child's eyes the beautiful ones +of her friend looked with sudden appeal, and the usually steady hands +held those of Carmencita with frightened force. "What have you done? +What have you done?"</p> + +<p>"Done?" Carmencita's fingers twisted into those of her beloved, and +her laugh was joyous. "Done! Not much yet. I've just begun. Did—did +you know you were to have a grand Christmas present, Miss Frances? You +are. It's—it's alive!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV" />CHAPTER XV</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 72px;"> +<img src="images/15.png" width="72" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><p>he time intervening before his return to help with the tree was spent +by Van Landing in a certain establishment where jewels were kept and +in telephoning Peterkin; and the orders to Peterkin were many. At four +o'clock he was back at Mother McNeil's.</p> + +<p>In the double parlor of the old-fashioned house, once the home of +wealth and power, the tree was already in place, and around it, in +crowded confusion, were boxes and barrels, and bundles and toys, and +clothes and shoes, and articles of unknown name and purpose, and for a +moment he hesitated. Hands in his pockets, he looked first at Mother +McNeil and then at a little lame boy on the floor beside an open +trunk, out of which he was taking gaily-colored ornaments and +untangling yards of tinsel; and then he looked at Frances, who, with a +big apron over her black dress, with its soft white collar open at the +throat, was holding a pile of empty stockings in her hands.</p> + +<p>"You are just in time, my son." Mother McNeil beamed warmly at the +uninvited visitor. "When a man can be of service, it's let him serve, +I say, and if you will get that step-ladder over there and fix this +angel on the top of the tree it will save time. Jenkins has gone for +more tinsel and more bread. We didn't intend at first to have +sandwiches and chocolate—just candy and nuts and things like +that—but it's so cold and snowy Frances thought something good and +hot would taste well. You can slice the bread, Mr. Van Landing. Four +sandwiches apiece for the boys and three for the girls are what we +allow." She looked around. "Hand him that angel, Frances, and show him +where to put it. I've got to see about the cakes."</p> + +<p>Never having fastened an angel to the top of a tree, for a half-moment +Van Landing was uncertain how to go about it, fearing exposure of +ignorance and awkwardness; then with a quick movement he was up the +ladder and looking down at the girl who was handing him a huge paper +doll dressed in the garments supposedly worn by the dwellers of +mansions in the sky, and as he took it he laughed.</p> + +<p>"This is a very worldly-looking angel. She apparently enjoys the +blowing of her trumpet. Stand off, will you, and see if that's right?" +Van Landing fastened the doll firmly to the top of the tree. "Does she +show well down there?"</p> + +<p>It was perfectly natural that he should be here and helping. True, he +had never heard of Mother McNeil and her home until two nights before, +never had dressed a Christmas tree before, or before gone where he was +not asked, but things of that sort no longer mattered. What mattered +was that he had found Frances, that it was the Christmas season, and +he was at last learning the secret of its hold on human hearts and +sympathies. There was no time to talk, but as he looked he watched, +with eyes that missed no movement that she made, the fine, fair face +that to him was like no other on earth, and, watching, he wondered if +she, too, wondered at the naturalness of it all.</p> + +<p>The years that had passed since he had seen her had left their +imprint. She had known great sorrow, also she had traveled much, and, +though about her were the grace and courage of old, there was +something else, something of nameless and compelling appeal, and he +knew that she, too, knew the loneliness of life.</p> + +<p>Quickly they worked, and greater and greater grew the confusion of +the continually appearing boxes and bundles, and, knee-deep, Mother +McNeil surveyed them, hands on her hips, and once or twice she brushed +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"It's always the way, my son. If you trust people they will not fail +you. When we learn how to understand there will be less hate and more +help in the world. Jenkins, bring that barrel of apples and box of +oranges over here and get a knife for Mr. Van Landing to cut the bread +for the sandwiches. It's time to make them. Matilda, call Abraham in. +He can slice the ham and cheese. There must be plenty. Boys are +hollow. Frances, have you seen my scissors?"</p> + +<p>Out of what seemed hopeless confusion and chaotic jumbling, out of +excited coming and going, and unanswered questions, and slamming of +doors, and hurried searchings, order at last evolved, and, feeling +very much as if he'd been in a football match, Van Landing surveyed +the rooms with a sense of personal pride in their completeness. Around +the tree, placed between the two front windows, were piled countless +packages, each marked, and from the mantelpiece hung a row of bulging +stockings, reinforced by huge mounds of the same on the floor, +guarded already by old Fetch-It. Holly and cedar gave color and +fragrance, and at the uncurtained windows wreaths, hung by crimson +ribbons, sent a welcome to the waiting crowd outside.</p> + +<p>If he were not here he would be alone, with nothing to do. And +Christmas eve alone! He drew in his breath and looked at Frances. In +her face was warm, rich color, and her eyes were gay and bright, but +she was tired. She would deny it if asked. He did not have to ask. If +only he could take her away and let her rest!</p> + +<p>She was going up-stairs to change her dress. Half-way up the steps he +called her, and, leaning against the rail of the banisters, he looked +up at her.</p> + +<p>"When you come down I must see you, Frances—and alone. I shall wait +here for you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot see you alone. There will be no time."</p> + +<p>"Then we must make time. I tell you I must see you." Something in her +eyes made him hesitate. He must try another way. "Listen, Frances. I +want you to do me a favor. There's a young girl in my office, my +stenographer, who is to be married to-morrow to my head clerk. She is +from a little town very far from here and has no relatives, no +intimate friends near enough to go to. She lives in a boarding-house, +and she can't afford to go home to be married. I have asked Herrick to +bring her to my apartment to-morrow and marry her there. I would like +her to have—Carmencita and her father are coming, and I want you to +come, too. It would make things nicer for her. Will you come—you and +Mother McNeil?"</p> + +<p>Over the banisters the beautiful eyes looked down into Van Landing's. +Out of them had gone guarding. In them was that which sent the blood +in hot surge through his heart. "I would love to come, but I am going +out of town to-morrow—going—"</p> + +<p>"Home?" In Van Landing's voice was unconcealed dismay. The glow of +Christmas, new and warm and sweet, died sharply, leaving him cold and +full of fear. "Are you going home?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "I have no home. That is why I am going away +to-morrow. Mother McNeil will have her family here, and I'd be—I'd be +an outsider. It's everybody's home day—and when you haven't a home—"</p> + +<p>She turned and went a few steps farther on to where the stairs +curved, then suddenly she sat down and crumpled up and turned her face +to the wall. With leaps that took the steps two at a time Van Landing +was beside her.</p> + +<p>"Frances!" he said, "Frances!" and in his arms he held her close. +"You've found out, too! Thank God, you've found out, too!"</p> + +<p>Below, a door opened and some one was in the hall. Quickly Frances was +on her feet. "You must not, must not, Stephen—not here!"</p> + +<p>"Goodness gracious! they've done made up."</p> + +<p>At the foot of the steps Carmencita, as if paralyzed with delight, +stood for a moment, then, shutting tight her eyes, ran back whence she +came; at the door she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Carmencita! Carmencita!" It was Van Landing's voice. She turned her +head. "Come here, Carmencita. I have something to tell you."</p> + +<p>Eyes awed and shining, Carmencita came slowly up the steps. Reaching +them, with a spring she threw her arms around her dear friend's neck +and kissed her lips again and again and again, then held out her hands +to the man beside her. "Is—is it to be to-morrow, Mr. Van?"</p> + +<p>"It is to be to-morrow, Carmencita."</p> + +<p>For a half-moment there was quivering silence; then Van Landing spoke +again. "There are some things I must attend to to-night. Early +to-morrow I will come for you, Frances, and in Dr. Pierson's church we +will be married. Herrick and Miss Davis are coming at one o'clock, and +my—wife must be there to receive them. And you, too, Carmencita—you +and your father. We are going to have—" Van Landing's voice was +unsteady. "We are going to have Christmas at home, Frances. Christmas +at home!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI" />CHAPTER XVI</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 73px;"> +<img src="images/16.png" width="73" height="120" alt="L" title="" /> +</div><p>ifting herself on her elbow, Carmencita listened. There was no sound +save the ticking of the little clock on the mantel. For a moment she +waited, then with a swift movement of her hand threw back the covering +on the cot, slipped from it, and stood, barefooted, in her nightgown, +in the middle of the floor. Head on the side, one hand to her mouth, +the other outstretched as if for silence from some one unseen, she +raised herself on tiptoe and softly, lightly, crossed the room to the +door opening into the smaller room wherein her father slept. Hand on +the knob, she listened, and, the soft breathing assuring her he was +asleep, she closed the door, gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, and +hurried back to the cot, close to which she sat down, put on her +stockings, and tied on her feet a pair of worn woolen slippers, once +the property of her prudent and practical friend, Miss Cattie Burns. +Slipping on her big coat over her gown, she tiptoed to the mantel, +lighted the candle upon it, and looked at the clock.</p> + +<p>"Half past twelve," she said, "and Father's stocking not filled yet!"</p> + +<p>As she got down from the chair on which she had stood to see the hour +her foot caught in the ripped hem of her coat. She tripped, and would +have fallen had she not steadied herself against the table close to +the stove, and as she did so she laughed under her breath.</p> + +<p>"Really this kimono is much too long." She looked down on the loosened +hem. "And I oughtn't to wear my best accordion-pleated pale-blue crêpe +de Chine and shadow lace when I am so busy. But dark-gray things are +so unbecoming, and, besides, I may have a good deal of company +to-night. The King of Love and the Queen of Hearts may drop in, and I +wouldn't have time to change. Miss Lucrecia Beck says I'm going to +write a book when I'm big, I'm so fond of making up and of +love-things. She don't know I've written one already. If he hadn't +happened to be standing on that corner looking so—so—I don't know +what, exactly, but so something I couldn't help running down and +asking him to come up—I never would have had the day I've had to-day +and am going to have to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Stooping, she pinned the hem of her coat carefully, then, stretching +out her arms, stood on her tiptoes and spun noiselessly round and +round. "Can't help it!" she said, as if to some one who objected. "I'm +so glad I'm living, so glad I spoke to him, and know him, that I'm +bound to let it out. Father says I mustn't speak to strangers; but I'd +have to be dead not to talk, and I didn't think about his being a man. +He looked so lonely."</p> + +<p>With quick movements a big gingham apron was tied over the bulky coat, +and, putting the candle on the table in the middle of the room, +Carmencita began to move swiftly from cot to cupboard, from chairs to +book-shelves, and from behind and under each bundles and boxes of +varying sizes were brought forth and arrayed in rows on the little +table near the stove. As the pile grew bigger so did her eyes, and in +her cheeks, usually without color, two spots burned deep and red. +Presently she stood off and surveyed her work and, hands clasped +behind, began to count, her head nodding with each number.</p> + +<p>"Thirteen big ones and nineteen little ones," she said, "and I don't +know a thing that's in one of them. Gracious! this is a nice world to +live in! I wonder what makes people so good to me? Mrs. Robinsky +brought up those six biggest ones to-night." Lightly her finger was +laid on each. "She said they were left with her to be sent up +to-morrow morning, but there wouldn't be a thing to send if she +waited, as the children kept pinching and poking so to see what was in +them. I'd like to punch myself. Noodles gave me that." Her head nodded +at a queer-shaped package wrapped in brown paper and tied with green +cord. "He paid nineteen cents for it. He told me so. I didn't pay but +five for what I gave him. He won't brush his teeth or clean his +finger-nails, and I told him I wasn't going to give him a thing if he +didn't, but I haven't a bit of hold-out-ness at Christmas. I wonder +what's in that?"</p> + +<p>Cautiously her hand was laid on a box wrapped in white tissue-paper +and tied with red ribbons. "I'll hate to open it and see, it looks so +lovely and Christmasy, but if I don't see soon I'll die from wanting +to know. It rattled a little when I put it on the table. It's Miss +Frances's present, and I know it isn't practical. She's like I am. She +don't think Christmas is for plain and useful things. She thinks it's +for pleasure and pretty ones. I wonder—" Her hands were pressed to +her breast, and on tiptoes she leaned quiveringly toward the table. "I +wonder if it could be a new tambourine with silver bells on it! If it +is I'll die for joy, I'll be so glad! I broke mine to-night. I shook +it so hard when I was dancing after I got home from the tree +that—Good gracious! I've caught my foot again! These diamond buckles +on my satin slippers are always catching the chiffon ruffles on my +petticoats. I oughtn't to wear my best things when I'm busy, but I +can't stand ugly ones, even to work in. Mercy! it's one o'clock, and +the things for Father's stocking aren't out yet."</p> + +<p>Out of the bottom drawer of the old-fashioned chest at the end of the +room a box was taken and laid on the floor near the stove, into which +a small stick of wood was put noiselessly, and carefully Carmencita +sat down beside it. Taking off the top of the box, she lifted first a +large-size stocking and held it up.</p> + +<p>"I wish I was one hundred children's mother at Christmas and had a +hundred stockings to fill! I mean, if I had things to fill them with. +But as I'm not a mother, just a daughter, I'm thankful glad I've got +a father to fill a stocking for. He's the only child I've got. If he +could just see how beautiful and red this apple is, and how yellow +this orange, and what a darling little candy harp <i>this</i> is, I'd be +thankfuler still. But he won't ever see. The doctor said so—said I +must be his eyes."</p> + +<p>One by one the articles were taken out of the box and laid on the +floor; and carefully, critically, each was examined.</p> + +<p>"This cravat is an awful color." Carmencita's voice made an effort to +be polite and failed. "Mr. Robinsky bought it for father himself and +asked me to put it in his stocking, but I hate to put. I'll have to do +it, of course, and father won't know the colors, but what on earth +made him get a green-and-red plaid? Now listen at me! I'm doing just +what Miss Lucrecia does to everything that's sent her. The only +pleasure she gets out of her presents is making fun of them and +snapping at the people who send them. She's an awful snapper. The +Damanarkist sent these cigars. They smell good. He don't believe in +Christmas, but he sent Father and me both a present. I hope he'll like +the picture-frame I made for his mother's picture. His mother's dead, +but he believed in her. She was the only thing he did believe in. A +man who don't believe in his mother—Oh, <i>my</i> precious mother!"</p> + +<p>With a trembling movement the little locket was taken from the box and +opened and the picture in it kissed passionately; then, without +warning, the child crumpled up and hot tears fell fast over the +quivering face. "I do want you, my mother! Everybody wants a mother at +Christmas, and I haven't had one since I was seven. Father tries to +fill my stocking, but it isn't a mother-stocking, and I just ache and +ache to—to have one like you'd fix. I want—" The words came +tremblingly, and presently she sat up.</p> + +<p>"Carmencita Bell, you are a baby. Behave—your—self!" With the end of +the gingham apron the big blue eyes were wiped. "You can't do much in +this world, but you can keep from crying. Suppose Father was to know." +Her back straightened and her head went up. "Father isn't ever going +to know, and if I don't fill this stocking it won't be hanging on the +end of the mantelpiece when he wakes up. The locket must go in the +toe."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII" />CHAPTER XVII</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 75px;"> +<img src="images/17.png" width="75" height="120" alt="I" title="" /> +</div><p>n half an hour the stocking, big and bulging, was hung in its +accustomed place, the packages for her father put on a chair by +themselves, and those for her left on the table, and as she rearranged +the latter something about the largest one arrested her attention, +and, stopping, she gazed at it with eyes puzzled and uncertain.</p> + +<p>It looked—Cautiously her fingers were laid upon it. Undoubtedly it +looked like the box in which had been put the beautiful dark-blue coat +she had bought for the little friend of her friend. And that other box +was the size of the one the two dresses had been put in; and that was +a hat-box, and that a shoe-box, and the sash and beads and gloves and +ribbons, all the little things, had been put in a box that size. Every +drop of blood surged hotly, tremblingly, and with eyes staring and +lips half parted her breath came unsteadily.</p> + +<p>In the confusion of their coming she had not noticed when Mrs. +Robinsky had brought them up and put them under the cot, with the +injunction that they were not to be opened until the morning, and for +the first time their familiarity was dawning on her. Could it +be—could <i>she</i> be the little friend he had said was rich? She wasn't +rich. He didn't mean money-rich, but she wasn't any kind of rich; and +she had been so piggy.</p> + +<p>Hot color swept over her face, and her hands twitched. She had told +him again and again she was getting too much, but he had insisted on +her buying more, and made her tell him what little girls liked, until +she would tell nothing more. And they had all been for her. For her, +Carmencita Bell, who had never heard of him three days before.</p> + +<p>In the shock of revelation, the amazement of discovery, the little +figure at the table stood rigid and upright, then it relaxed and with +a stifled sob Carmencita crossed the room and, by the side of her cot, +twisted herself into a little knot and buried her face in her arms and +her arms in the covering.</p> + +<p>"I didn't believe! I didn't believe!"</p> + +<p>Over and over the words came tremblingly. "I prayed and prayed, but I +didn't believe! He let it happen, and I didn't believe!"</p> + +<p>For some moments there were queer movements of twitching hands and +twisting feet by the side of the cot, but after a while a +tear-stained, awed, and shy-illumined face looked up from the arms in +which it had been hidden and ten slender fingers intertwined around +the knees of a hunched-up little body, which on the floor drew itself +closer to the fire.</p> + +<p>It was a wonderful world, this world in which she lived. Carmencita's +eyes were looking toward the window, through which she could see the +shining stars. Wonderful things happened in it, and quite beyond +explaining were these things, and there was no use trying to +understand. Two days ago she was just a little girl who lived in a +place she hated and was too young to go to work, and who had a blind +father and no rich friends or relations, and there was nothing nice +that could happen just so.</p> + +<p>"But things don't happen just so. They happen—don't anybody know how, +I guess." Carmencita nodded at the stars. "I've prayed a good many +times before and nothing happened, and I don't know why all this +beautifulness should have come to me, and Mrs. Beckwith, who is good +as gold, though a poor manager with babies, shouldn't ever have any +luck. I don't understand, but I'm awful thankful. I wish I could let +God know, and the Christ-child know, how thankful I am. Maybe the way +they'd like me to tell is by doing something nice for somebody else. I +know. I'll ask Miss Parker to supper Christmas night. She's an awful +poky person and needs new teeth, but she says she's so sick of mending +pants, she wishes some days she was dead. And I'll ask the +Damanarkist. He hasn't anywhere to go, and he hates rich people so +it's ruined his stomach. Hate is an awful ruiner."</p> + +<p>For some moments longer Carmencita sat in huddled silence, then +presently she spoke again.</p> + +<p>"I didn't intend to give Miss Cattie Burns anything. I've tried to +like Miss Cattie and I can't. But it was very good in her to send us a +quarter of a cord of wood for a Christmas present. She can't help +being practical. I'll take her that red geranium to-morrow. I raised +it from a slip, and I hate to see it go, but it's all I've got to +give. It will have to go.</p> + +<p>"And to-morrow. I mean to-day—this is Christmas day! Oh, a happy +Christmas, everybody!" Carmencita's arms swung out, then circled +swiftly back to her heart. "For everybody in all the world I'd make it +happy if I could! And I'm going to a wedding to-day—a wedding! I +don't wonder you're thrilly, Carmencita Bell!"</p> + +<p>For a half-moment breath came quiveringly from the parted lips, then +again at the window and the stars beyond the little head nodded.</p> + +<p>"But I'll never wonder at things happening any more. I'll just wonder +at there being so many nice people on this earth. All are not nice. +The Damanarkist says there is a lot of rot in them, a lot of meanness +and cheatingness, and nasty people who don't want other people to do +well or to get in their way; but there's bound to be more niceness +than nastiness, or the world couldn't go on. It couldn't without a lot +of love. It takes a lot of love to stand life. I read that in a book. +Maybe that's why we have Christmas—why the Christ-child came."</p> + +<p>Shyly the curly head was bent on the upraised knees, and the palms of +two little hands were uplifted. "O God, all I've got to give is love. +Help me never to forget, and put a lot in my heart so I'll always +have it ready. And I thank You and thank You for letting such grand +things happen. I didn't dream there'd really be a marriage when I +asked You please to let it be if you could manage it; but there's +going to be two, and I'm going to both. I've got a new dress to wear, +and slippers with buckles, and amber beads, and lots of other things. +And most of all I thank You for Mr. Van and Miss Frances finding each +other. And please don't let them ever lose each other again. They +might, even if they are married, if they don't take care. Please help +them to take care, for Christ's sake. Amen."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On her feet, Carmencita patted the stocking hanging from the mantel, +took off the big coat, kicked the large, loose slippers across the +room, blew out the candle, and stood for a moment poised on the tip of +her toes.</p> + +<p>"If I could"—the words came breathlessly—"if I could I'd dance like +the lady I was named for, but it might wake Father. I mustn't wake +Father. Good night, everybody—and a merry Christmas to all this nice, +big world!"</p> + +<p>With a spring that carried her across the room Carmencita was on her +cot and beneath its covering, which she drew up to her face. Under +her breath she laughed joyously, and her arms were hugged to her +heart.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow—I mean to-day—I am going to tell them. They don't +understand yet. They think it was just an accident." She shook her +head. "It wasn't an accident. After they're married I'm going to tell +them. Tell them how it happened."</p> + +<h2>THE END</h2> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of How It Happened, by Kate Langley Bosher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOW IT HAPPENED *** + +***** This file should be named 14723-h.htm or 14723-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/7/2/14723/ + +Produced by Stephen Schulze and the Online Distributed Proofreaders Team + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: How It Happened + +Author: Kate Langley Bosher + +Release Date: January 17, 2005 [EBook #14723] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOW IT HAPPENED *** + + + + +Produced by Stephen Schulze and the Online Distributed Proofreaders Team + + + + + + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED + +BY + +KATE LANGLEY BOSHER + +AUTHOR OF + +THE MAN IN LONELY LAND, +MARY CARY, ETC + +ILLUSTRATED + + +PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 1914 + + +TO +MY FAITHFUL FRIEND +ARIADNE ELIZABETH VAUGHAN LATHAM + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +"WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR TOASTED CHEESE +ON TOAST?" + +"YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I THANK YOU NOW +FOR--" + + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Head on the side and chin uptilted, she held it at arm's-length, +turning it now in one direction, now in another, then with +deliberation she laid it on the floor. + +"I have wanted to do it ever since you were sent me; now I am going +to." + +Hands on hips, she looked down on the high-crown, narrow-brim hat of +stiff gray felt which was at her feet, and nodded at it with firmness +and decision. "It's going to be my Christmas present to +myself--getting rid of you. Couldn't anything give me as much pleasure +as smashing you is going to give. Good-by--" + +Raising her right foot, Carmencita held it poised for a half-moment +over the hated hat, then with long-restrained energy she brought it +down on the steeple-crown and crushed it into shapelessness. "I wish +she could see you now." Another vigorous punch was given, then with a +swift movement the battered bunch of dull grayness, with its yellow +bird and broken buckle of tarnished steel, was sent in the air, and as +it landed across the room the child laughed gaily, ran toward it, and +with the tip of her toes tossed it here and there. Sending it now up +to the ceiling, now toward the mantel, now kicking it over the table, +and now to the top of the window, she danced round and round the room, +laughing breathlessly. Presently she stooped, picked it up, stuck it +on her head, and, going to the stove, opened its top, and with a shake +of her curls dropped the once haughty and now humbled head-gear in the +fire and watched it burn with joyous satisfaction. + +"The first time she wore it we called her Coachman Cattie, it was so +stiff and high and hideous, and nobody but a person like her would +ever have bought it. I never thought it would some day come to me. +Some missioners are nice, some very nice, but some--" + +With emphasis the lid of the stove was put back, and, going to the +table in the middle of the room, Carmencita picked up the contents of +the little work-basket, which had been knocked over in her rushing +round, and put them slowly in place. "Some missioners seem to think +because you're poor everything God put in other people's hearts and +minds and bodies and souls He left out of you. Of course, if you +haven't a hat you ought to be thankful for any kind." The words came +soberly, and the tiniest bit of a quiver twisted the lips of the +protesting mouth. "You oughtn't to know whether it is pretty or ugly +or becoming or--You ought just to be thankful and humble, and I'm not +either. I don't like thankful, humble people; I'm afraid of them." + +Leaving the table where for a minute she had jumbled needles and +thread and scissors and buttons in the broken basket, she walked +slowly over to the tiny mirror hung above a chest of drawers, and on +tiptoes nodded at the reflection before her--nodded and spoke to it. + +"You're a sinner, all right, Carmencita Bell, and there's no natural +goodness in you. You hate hideousness, and poorness, and other +people's cast-offs, and emptiness in your stomach, and living on the +top floor with crying babies and a drunken father underneath, and +counting every stick of wood before you use it. And you get furious +at times because your father is blind and people have forgotten about +his beautiful music, and you want chicken and cake when you haven't +even enough bacon and bread. You're a sinner, all right. If you were +in a class of them you would be at the head. It's the only thing you'd +ever be at the head of. You know you're poverty-poor, and still you're +always fighting inside, always making out that it is just for a little +while. Why don't you--" + +The words died on her lips, and suddenly the clear blue eyes, made for +love and laughter and eager for all that is lovely in life, dimmed +with hot tears, and with a half-sob she turned and threw herself face +downward on the rug-covered cot on the opposite side of the room. + +"O God, please don't let Father know!" The words came in tones that +were terrified. "Please don't ever let him know! I wasn't born good, +and I hate bad smells, and dirty things, and ugly clothes, and not +enough to eat, but until I am big enough to go to work please, +_please_ help me to keep Father from knowing! Please help me!" + +With a twisting movement the child curled herself into a little ball, +and for a moment tempestuous sobbing broke the stillness of the room, +notwithstanding the knuckles of two little red hands which were +pressed to the large sweet mouth. Presently she lifted the hem of her +skirt and wiped her eyes, then she got up. + +"I wish I could cry as much as I want to. I never have had a place +convenient to do it all by myself, and there's never time, but it gets +the choked things out and makes you feel much better. I don't often +want to, just sometimes, like before Christmas when you're crazy to do +a lot of things you can't do--and some people make you so mad! If I'd +been born different and not minding ugly things and loving pretty +ones, I wouldn't have hated that hat so. That's gone, anyhow. I've +been wanting to see how high I could kick it ever since Miss Cattie +sent it to me, and now I've done it. I've got a lot of old clothes I'd +like to send to Ballyhack, but I can't send." + +She stopped, smoothed her rumpled dress, and shook back the long loose +curls which had fallen over her face. "I must be getting sorry for +myself. If I am I ought to be spanked. I can't spank, but I can dance. +If you don't head it off quick it goes to your liver. I'll head!" + +With a swift movement Carmencita sprang across the room and from the +mantel took down a once beribboned but now faded and worn tambourine. +"You'd rather cry," she said, under her breath, "but you sha'n't cry. +I won't let you. Dance! Dance! Dance!" + +Aloft the tambourine was shaken, and its few remaining bells broke +gaily on the air as with abandon that was bewildering in grace and +suppleness the child leaped into movement swift and light and amazing +in beauty. Around the room, one arm akimbo, one hand now in the air, +now touching with the tambourine the hard, bare floor, now tossing +back the loose curls, now waving gaily overhead, faster and faster she +danced, her feet in perfect rhythm to the bells; then presently the +tambourine was thrown upon the table, and she stopped beside it, face +flushed, eyes shining, and breath that came in quick, short gasps. + +"That was much better than crying." She laughed. "There isn't much you +can do in this world, Carmencita, but you can dance. You've got to do +it, too, every time you feel sorry for yourself. I wonder if I could +see Miss Frances before I go for Father? I _must_ see her. Must! Those +Beckwith babies have got the croup, and I want to ask her if she +thinks it's awful piggy in me to put all my money, or 'most all, in +Father's present. And I want to ask her--I could ask Miss Frances +things all night. Maybe the reason I'm not a thankful person is I'm so +inquiring. I expect to spend the first hundred years after I get to +heaven asking questions." + +Going over to the mantel, Carmencita looked at the little clock upon +it. "I don't have to go to the wedding-place for father until after +six," she said, slowly, "and I'd like to see Miss Frances before I go. +If I get there by half past five I can see the people get out of their +automobiles and sail in. I wish I could sail somewhere. If I could see +some grandness once and get the smell of cabbage and onions out of my +nose, which I never will as long as the Rheinhimers live underneath +us, I wouldn't mind the other things so much, but there isn't any +chance of grandness coming as high up in the air as this. I wonder if +God has forgot about us! He has so many to remember--" + +With a swift turn of her head, as if listening, Carmencita's eyes grew +shy and wistful, then she dropped on her knees by the couch and buried +her face in her arms. "If God's forgot I'll remind Him," she said, and +tightly she closed her eyes. + +"O God"--the words came eagerly, fervently--"we are living in the +same place, and every day I hope we will get in a better one, but +until we do please help me to keep on making Father think I like it +better than any other in town. I thought maybe You had forgotten where +we were. I'm too little to go to work yet, and that's why we're still +here. We can't pay any more rent, or we'd move. And won't You please +let something nice happen? I don't mean miracles, or money, or things +like that, but something thrilly and exciting and romantic, if You can +manage it. Every day is just the same sort of sameness, and I get so +mad-tired of cooking and cleaning and mending, before school and after +school and nights, that if something don't happen soon I'm afraid +Father will find out what a pretending person I am, and he mustn't +find. It's been much better since I knew Miss Frances. I'm awful much +obliged to You for letting me know her, but she isn't permanent, +Mother McNeil says, and may go away soon. I'm going to try to have a +grand Christmas and be as nice as I can to Mrs. Rheinhimer, but she's +so lazy and dirty it's hard not to tell her so. And if You could let a +nice thing happen for Christmas I hope You will. If it could be a +marriage and I could be bridesmaid I'd like that best, as I've never +been to an inside wedding, just outside on the street. I don't care +for poor marriages. Amen." + +On her feet, Carmencita hesitated, then, going to a closet across the +room, took from its top shelf a shabby straw hat and put it on. "This +was bought for me and fits," she said, as if to some one by her side, +"and, straw or no straw, it feels better than that Coachman Cattie, +which is gone for evermore. Some day I hope I can burn you up, +too"--she nodded to the coat into which she was struggling--"but I +can't do it yet. You're awful ugly and much too big, but you're warm +and the only one I've got. I'll have half an hour before it's time to +go for Father. If Miss Frances is home I can talk a lot in half an +hour." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Carmencita knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. After the +third knock she opened the door and, hand on the knob, looked in. + +"Oh, Miss Frances, I was afraid you had gone out! I knocked and +knocked, but you didn't say come in, so I thought I'd look. Please +excuse me!" + +The girl at the sewing-machine, which was close to the window and far +from the door, stopped its running, turned in her chair, and held out +her hand. "Hello, Carmencita! I'm glad it's you and not Miss Perkins. +I wouldn't want Miss Perkins to see me trying to sew, but you can see. +Take off your coat. Is it cold out?" + +"Getting cold." The heavy coat was laid on one chair, and Carmencita, +taking up a half-made gingham dress from another, sat in it and laid +the garment in her lap. "I didn't know you knew how to sew." + +"I don't." The girl at the machine laughed. "Those Simcoe children +didn't have a dress to change in, and I'm practising on some skirts +and waists for them. Every day I'm finding out something else I don't +know how to do. I seem to have been taught a good many things there is +no special need of knowing, and very few I can make use of down here." + +"You didn't expect to come down here when you were learning things, +did you?" Carmencita's eyes were gravely watching the efforts being +made to thread the machine's needle. "I guess when you were a little +girl you didn't know there were things like you see down here. What +made you come here, Miss Frances? You didn't have to. What made you +come?" + +Into the fine fair face color crept slowly, and for a moment a sudden +frown ridged the high forehead from which the dark hair, parted and +brushed back, waved into a loose knot at the back of her head; then +she laughed, and her dark eyes looked into Carmencita's blue ones. + +"Why did I come?" The gingham dress on which she had been sewing was +folded carefully. "I came to find out some of the things I did not +know about. I wasn't of any particular use to anybody else. No one +needed me. I had a life on my hands that I didn't know what to do +with, and I thought perhaps--" + +"You could use it down here? You could use a dozen down here, but you +weren't meant not to get married. Aren't you ever going to get +married, Miss Frances?" + +"I hardly think I will." Frances Barbour got up and pushed the machine +against the wall. "The trouble about getting married is marrying the +right man. One so often doesn't. I wouldn't like to make a mistake." +Again she smiled. + +"Don't see how you could make a mistake. Isn't there some way you can +tell?" + +"My dear Carmencita!" Stooping, the child's face was lifted and +kissed. "I'm not a bit interested in men or marriage. They belong +to--to a long, long time ago. I'm interested now in little girls like +you, and in boys, and babies, and gingham dresses, and Christmas +trees, and night classes, and the Dramatic School for the children who +work, and--" + +"I'm interested in them, too, but I'm going to get married when I'm +big enough. I know you work awful hard down here, but it wasn't what +you were born for. I'm always feeling, right inside me, right +here"--Carmencita's hand was laid on her breast--"that you aren't +going to stay here long, and it makes an awful sink sometimes. You'll +go away and forget us, and get married, and go to balls and parties +and wear satin slippers with buckles on them, and dance, and I'd do +it, too, if I were you. Only--only I wish sometimes you hadn't come. +It will be so much harder when you go away." + +"But I'm not going away." At the little white bureau in the plainly +furnished room of Mother McNeil's "Home," Frances stuck the pins +brought from the machine into the little cushion and nodded gaily to +the child now standing by her side. "I've tried the parties and balls +and--all the other things, and for a while they were very nice; and +then one day I found I was spending all my time getting ready for them +and resting from them, and there was never time for anything else. If +I had died it would not have mattered the least bit that I had lived. +And--" + +"Didn't you have a sweetheart that it mattered to? Not even one?" + +Into hers Carmencita's eyes were looking firmly, and, turning from +them, Frances made effort to laugh; then her face whitened. + +"One can never be sure how much things matter to others, Carmencita. +We can only be sure of how much they matter--to us. But it was +Christmas we were to talk about. It's much nicer to talk about +Christmas. We can't talk very long, for I meet the 'Little Mothers' at +half past six, and after that I--" + +"And I've got to go at half past five to meet Father when he's through +with that wedding up-town, and then we're going shopping. I've got a +lot to talk about. The Beckwith babies are awful sick. I guess it +would be a good thing if they were to die. They are always having +colic and cramps and croup, and they've got a coughing mother and a +lazy father; but they won't die. Some babies never will. Did you know +Mr. Rheinhimer had been on another spree?" Carmencita, feet fastened +in the rounds of her chair, elbows on knees, and chin in the palms of +her hand, nodded affirmatively at the face in front of her. "Worst one +yet. He smashed all the window-panes in the bedroom, and broke two +legs of their best chairs doing it, and threw the basin and pitcher +out of the window. He says he'd give any man living five hundred +dollars, if he had it, if he'd live with his wife a month and not +shake her. She is awful aggravating. She's always in curl papers, and +don't wear corsets, and nags him to death. She says she wishes you'd +send him to a cure or something. And I want to tell you about Father's +present." + +For twenty minutes they talked long and earnestly. Carmencita's list +of names and number of pennies were gone over again and again, and +when at last she got up to go the perplexities of indecision and +adjustment were mainly removed, and she sighed with satisfaction. + +"I'm very much obliged to you for helping me fix it." The piece of +paper was carefully pinned to the inside of the coat. "I'm not going +to get anything but Father's present to-night. I won't have to go to +school to-morrow, and I want the buying to last as long as possible. +Isn't it funny the way Christmas makes you feel?" + +Carmencita's hands came suddenly together, and, pressing them on her +breast, her eyes grew big and shining. Standing first on one foot and +then on the other, she swayed slightly forward, then gave a leap in +the air. + +"I can't help it, Miss Frances, I really can't! It's something inside +me--something that makes me wish I was all the world's mother! And +I'm so squirmy and thrilly and shivery, thinking of the things I'd do +if I could, that sometimes I'm bound to jump--just bound to! I'm +almost sure something nice is going to happen. Did you ever feel that +way, Miss Frances?" + +"I used to feel that way." The clear dark eyes for a moment turned +from the eager ones of the child. "It's a very nice way to feel. When +one is young--though perhaps it is not so much youth as hope in the +heart, and love, and--" + +"I don't love everybody. I loathe Miss Cattie Burns. She's the very +old dev--I promised Father I wouldn't say even a true mean thing +about anybody for a month, and I've done it twice! I'd much rather +love people, though. I love to love! It makes you feel so nice and +warm and homey. If I had a house I'd have everybody I know--I mean all +the nice everybodies--to spend Christmas with me. Isn't it funny that +at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for--for--I don't know +what for, exactly, but it's something you don't mind so much not +having at other times." + +Carmencita's arms opened to their full length, then circled slowly, +and her hands crossed around her neck. "It's the time to wipe out and +forget things, Father says. It's the home-time and the heart-time +and--" In her voice was sudden anxiety. "You are not going away for +Christmas are you, Miss Frances?" + +"Not for Christmas eve." She hesitated. "I'm not quite sure what I'm +going to do on Christmas day. My people live in different places and +far apart. It is all very different from what it used to be. When one +is alone--" + +She stopped abruptly and, going over to the window, looked down on the +street below; and Carmencita, watching, saw the face turned from hers +twist in sudden pain. For a moment she stood puzzled and helpless. +Something she did not understand was troubling, something in which she +could not help. What was it? + +"You couldn't be alone at Christmas, Miss Frances." Slowly she came +toward the window, and shyly her hand slipped into that of her friend. +"There are too many wanting you. Father and I can't give fine presents +or have a fine dinner, but there wouldn't be words in which to tell +you how thankful we'd be if you'd spend it with us. Would you--would +you come to us, Miss Frances?" + +Into the eager blue eyes looking up the dark eyes looked down, and, +looking, grew misty. "Dear child, I'd come to you if I were here, but +I do not think I'll be here." Her head went up as if impatient with +herself. "I'm going away on Christmas day--going--" She took out her +watch hurriedly and looked at it. "It's after half past five, +Carmencita. You will have to hurry or you won't see the wedding guests +go in. Good-by, dear. Have a good time and tuck away all you see to +tell me later. I will be so busy between now and Christmas, there will +be no time for talking, but after Christmas--Why, you've got on your +straw hat, Carmencita! Where is the winter one Miss Cattie gave you? +She told me she had given you a perfectly good hat that would last a +long time." + +"She did." Carmencita's hands were stuck in the deep pockets of her +long coat, and again her big blue eyes were raised to her friend's. +"It would have lasted for ever if it hadn't got burned up. It fell in +the fire and got burned up." Out in the hall she hesitated, then came +back, opened the door, and put her head in. "It did get burned up, +Miss Frances. I burned it. Good-by." + +Late into the night Frances Barbour sat at her desk in the bare and +poorly furnished room which she now called hers, and wrote letters, +settled accounts, wrapped bundles, assorted packages, and made lists +of matters to be attended to on the next day. When at last through, +with the reaction that comes from overtired body and nerves she leaned +back in her chair and let her hands fall idly in her lap, and with +eyes that saw not looked across at the windows, on whose panes bits of +hail were tapping weirdly. For some minutes thought was held in +abeyance; then suddenly she crossed her arms on the table, and her +face was hidden in them. + +"Oh, Stephen! Stephen!" Under her breath the words came wearily. "We +were so foolish, Stephen; such silly children to give each other up! +All through the year I know, but never as I do at Christmas. And +we--we are each other's, Stephen!" With a proud uplifting of her head +she got up. "I am a child," she said, "a child who wants what it once +refused to have. But until he understood--" Quickly she put out the +light. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +He was ashamed of himself for being ashamed. Why on earth should he +hesitate to tell Peterkin he would dine alone on Christmas day? It was +none of Peterkin's business how he dined, or where, or with whom. And +still he had not brought himself to the point of informing Peterkin, +by his order for dinner at home, that he was not leaving town for the +holidays, that he was not invited to dine with any one else, and that +there was no one he cared to invite to dine with him. It was the 22d +of December, and the custodian in charge of his domestic arrangements +had not yet been told what his plans were for the 25th. He had no +plans. + +He might go, of course, to one of his clubs. But worse than telling +Peterkin that he would dine alone would be the public avowal of having +nowhere to go which dining at the club would not only indicate, but +affirm. Besides, at Christmas a club was ghastly, and the few who +dropped in had a half-shamed air at being there and got out as quickly +as possible. He could go to Hallsboro, but Hallsboro no longer bore +even a semblance to the little town in which he had been born--had, +indeed, become something of a big city, bustling, busy, and new, and +offensively up-to-date; and nowhere else did he feel so much a +stranger as in the place he had once called home. He was but twelve +when his parents moved away, and eight months later died within a week +of each other, and for years he had not been back. Had there been +brothers and sisters--Well, there were no brothers and sisters, and by +this time he should be used to the fact that he was very much alone in +the world. + +Hands in his pockets, Stephen Van Landing leaned back in his chair and +looked across the room at a picture on the wall. He did not see the +picture; he saw, instead, certain things that were not pleasant to +see. No, he would not go to Hallsboro for Christmas. + +Turning off the light in his office and closing the door with +unnecessary energy, Van Landing walked down the hall to the elevator, +then turned away and toward the steps. Reaching the street, he +hesitated as to the car he should take, whether one up-town to his +club or one across to his apartment, and as he waited he watched the +hurrying crowd with eyes in which were baffled impatience and +perplexity. It was incomprehensible, the shopping craze at this season +of the year. He wished there was no such season. Save for his very +young childhood there were few happy memories connected with it, but +only of late, only during the past few years, had the recurrence +awakened within him a sort of horror, its approach a sense of +loneliness that was demoralizing, and its celebration an emptiness in +life that chilled and depressed beyond all reason. Why was it that as +it drew near a feeling of cowardice so possessed him that he wanted to +go away, go anywhere and hide until it was over, go where he could not +see what it meant to others? It was humanity's home-time, and he had +no home. Why-- + +"An ass that brays is wiser than the man who asks what can't be +answered," he said, under his breath. "For the love of Heaven, quit +it! Why-ing in a man is as inexcusable as whining in a woman. There's +my car--crowded, of course!" + +For some minutes longer he waited for a car on which there was chance +to get a foothold, then, buttoning his overcoat, put his hands in his +pockets and began the walk to his club. The season had been mild so +far, but a change was coming, and the two days left for Christmas +shopping would doubtless be stormy ones. On the whole, it might be +fortunate. There was a good deal of nonsense in this curious custom of +once a year getting on a giving jag, which was about what Christmas +had degenerated into, and if something could prevent the dementia that +possessed many people at this season it should be welcomed. It had +often puzzled him, the behavior of the human family at this so-called +Christian holiday in which tired people were overworked, poor people +bought what they couldn't afford, and the rich gave unneeded things to +the rich and were given unwanted ones in return. The hands of all +people--all places--had become outstretched. It wasn't the giving of +money that mattered. But what did matter was the hugeness of the habit +which was commercializing a custom whose origin was very far removed +from the spirit of the day. + +With a shrug of his shoulders he shoved his hands deeper down into +his pockets. "Quit again," he said, half aloud. "What do you know of +the spirit of the day?" + +Not only of the spirit of the day did he know little, but of late with +acute conviction it was dawning on him that he knew little of many +other things. Certainly he was getting little out of life. For a +while, after professional recognition had come to him, and with it +financial reward, he had tested society, only to give it up and settle +down to still harder work during the day and his books when the day +was done. The only woman he had ever wanted to marry had refused to +marry him. His teeth came down on his lips. He still wanted her. In +all the world there was but one woman he loved or could love, and for +three years he had not seen her. It was his fault. He was to blame. It +had taken him long to see it, but he saw it now. There had been a +difference of opinion, a frank revealing of opposing points of view, +and he had been told that she would not surrender her life to the +selfishness that takes no part in activities beyond the interests of +her own home. He had insisted that when a woman marries said home and +husband should alone claim her time and heart, and in the multitude +of demands which go into the cultural and practical development of a +home out of a house there would be sufficient opportunity for the +exercise of a woman's brain and ability. He had been such a fool. What +right had he to limit her, or she him? It had all been so silly and +such a waste, such a horrible waste of happiness. + +For she had loved him. She was not a woman to love lightly, as he was +not a man, and hers was the love that glorifies life. And he had lost +it. That is, he had lost her. Three years ago she had broken their +engagement. Two years of this time had been spent abroad. A few months +after their return her mother died and her home was given up. Much of +the time since her mother's death had been spent with her married +sisters, who lived in cities far separated from one another, but not +for some weeks had he heard anything concerning her. He did not even +know where she was, or where she would be Christmas. + +"Hello, Van!" + +The voice behind made him turn. The voice was Bleeker McVeigh's. + +"Where are the wedding garments? Don't mean you're not going!" + +"Going where?" Van Landing fell into step. "Whose wedding?" + +McVeigh lighted a fresh cigarette. "You ought to be hung. I tell you +now you won't be bidden to my wedding. Why did you tell Jockie you'd +come, if you didn't intend to?" + +Van Landing stopped and for a minute stared at the man beside him. "I +forgot this was the twenty-second," he said. "Tell Jock I'm dead. I +wish I were for a week." + +"Ought to be dead." McVeigh threw his match away. "A man who ignores +his fellow-beings as you've ignored yours of late has no right to +live. Better look out. Don't take long to be forgotten. Good night." + +It was true that it didn't take long to be forgotten. He had been +finding that out rather dismally of late, finding out also that a good +many things Frances had told him about himself were true. Her eyes +could be so soft and lovely and appealing; they were wonderful eyes, +but they could blaze as well. And she was right. He was selfish and +conventional and intolerant. That is, he had been. He wished he could +forget her eyes. In all ways possible to a man of his type he had +tried to forget, but forgetting was beyond his power. Jock had loved +half a dozen women and this afternoon he was to be married to his last +love. Were he on Jock's order he might have married. He wasn't on +Jock's order. + +Reaching his club, he started to go up the steps, then turned and +walked away. To go in would provoke inquiry as to why he was not at +the wedding. He took out his watch. It was twenty minutes of the hour +set for the ceremony. He had intended to go, but--Well, he had +forgotten, and was glad of it. He loathed weddings. + +As he reached the building in which was his apartment he again +hesitated and again walked on. An unaccountable impulse led him in the +direction of the house, a few blocks away, in which his friend was to +be married, and as he neared it he crossed the street and in the +darkness of the late afternoon looked with eyes, half mocking, half +amazed, at the long line of limousines which stretched from one end of +the block to the other. At the corner he stopped. For some minutes he +stood looking at the little group of people who made effort to press +closer to the entrance of the awning which stretched from door to +curbing, then turned to go, when he felt a hand touch him lightly on +the arm. + +"If you will come up to the top of the steps you can see much better," +he heard a voice say. "I've seen almost everybody go in. I just ran +down to tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Turning, Van Landing looked into the little face upraised to his, then +lifted his hat. She was so enveloped in the big coat which came to her +heels that for half a moment he could not tell whether she was ten or +twenty. Then he smiled. + +"Thank you," he said. "I don't know that I care to see. I don't know +why I stopped." + +"Oh, but it is perfectly grand, seeing them is! You can see everything +up there"--a little bare hand was waved behind her in the direction of +the porch--"and nothing down here. And you looked like you wanted to +see. There have been kings and queens, and princes and princesses, and +dukes and duchesses, and sirs, and--" She looked up. "What's the lady +name for sir? 'Tisn't siress, is it?" + +"I believe not." Van Landing laughed. "I didn't know there was so much +royalty in town." "There is. They are royals--that kind of people." +Her hand pointed in the direction of the house from which could be +heard faint strains of music. "They live in palaces, and wave wands, +and eat out of gold plates, and wear silk stockings in the morning, +and--oh, they do everything that's splendid and grand and magnificent +and--" + +"Do you think people are splendid and grand and magnificent because +they live in palaces and wear--" + +"Goodness gracious!" The big blue eyes surveyed the speaker with +uncertainty. "Are you one of them, too?" + +"One what?" + +"Damanarkists. Mr. Leimberg is one. He hates people who live in +palaces and wave wands and have _dee_-licious things to eat. He don't +believe in it. Mr. Ripple says it's because he's a damanarkist and +very dangerous. Mr. Leimberg thinks men like Mr. Ripple ought to be +tarred and feathered. He says he'd take the very last cent a person +had and give it to blood-suckers like that"--and again the red little +hand was waved toward the opposite side of the street. "Mr. Ripple +collects our rent. I guess it does take a lot of money to live in a +palace, but I'd live in one if I could, though I'd try not to be very +particular about rents and things. And I'd have chicken-pie for dinner +every day and hot oysters for supper every night; and I'd ask some +little girls sometimes to come and see me--that is, I think I would. +But maybe I wouldn't. It's right easy to forget in a palace, I guess. +Oh, look--there's somebody else going in! Hurry, mister, or you won't +see!" + +Following the child up the flight of stone steps, Van Landing stood at +the top and looked across at the arriving cars, whose occupants were +immediately lost to sight in the tunnel, as his new acquaintance +called it, and then he looked at her. + +Very blue and big and wonder-filled were her eyes, and, tense in the +effort to gain the last glimpse of the gorgeously gowned guests, she +stood on tiptoe, leaning forward eagerly, and suddenly Van Landing +picked her up and put her on top of the railing. Holding on to his +coat, the child laughed gaily. + +"Aren't we having a good time?" Her breath was drawn in joyously. +"It's almost as good as being inside. Wouldn't you like to be? I +would. I guess the bride is beautiful, with real diamonds on her +slippers and in her hair, and--" She looked down on Van Landing. "My +father is in there. He goes to 'most all the scrimptious weddings that +have harps to them. He plays on the harp when the minister is saying +the words. Do you think it is going to be a very long wedding?" + +A note of anxiety in the child's voice made Van Landing look at her +more closely, and as she raised her eyes to his something stirred +within him curiously. What an old little face it was! All glow and +eagerness, but much too thin and not half enough color, and the hat +over the loose brown curls was straw. + +"I don't think it will be long." His voice was cheerfully decisive. +"That kind is usually soon over. Most of a wedding's time is taken in +getting ready for it. Did you say your father was over there?" + +The child's head nodded. "They have a harp, so I know they are nice +people. Father can't give lessons any more, because he can't see but +just a teensy, weensy bit when the sun is shining. He used to play on +a big organ, and we used to have oysters almost any time, but that was +before Mother died. Father was awful sick after she died, and there +wasn't any money, and when he got well he was almost blind, and he +can't teach any more, and 'most all he does now is weddings and +funerals. I love him to go to weddings. He makes the others tell him +everything they see, and then he tells me, and we have the grandest +time making out we were sure enough invited, and talking of what we +thought was the best thing to eat, and whose dress was the prettiest, +and which lady was the loveliest--Oh, my goodness! Look there!" + +Already some of the guests were departing; and Van Landing, looking at +his watch, saw it was twenty minutes past six. Obviously among those +present were some who failed to feel the enthusiasm for weddings that +his new friend felt. With a smile he put the watch away, and, placing +the child's feet more firmly on the railing, held her so that she +could rest against his shoulder. She could hardly be more than twelve +or thirteen, and undersized for that, but the oval face was one of +singular intelligence, and her eyes--her eyes were strangely like the +only eyes on earth he had ever loved, and as she settled herself more +comfortably his heart warmed curiously, warmed as it had not done for +years. Presently she looked down at him. + +"I don't think you're a damanarkist." Her voice was joyous. "You're +so nice. Can you see good?" + +"Very good. There isn't much to see. One might if it weren't for +that--" + +"Old tunnel! I don't think they ought to have them if it isn't snowing +or raining. Oh, I do hope Father can come out soon! If I tell you +something will you promise not to tell, not even say it to yourself +out loud?" Her face was raised to his. "I'm going to get Father's +Christmas present to-night. We're going down-town when he is through +over there. He can't see me buy it, and it's something he wants +dreadfully. I've been saving ever since last Christmas. It's going to +cost two dollars and seventy-five cents." The eager voice trailed off +into an awed whisper. "That's an awful lot to spend on something +you're not bound to have, but Christmas isn't like any other time. I +spend millions in my mind at Christmas. Have you bought all your +things, Mr.--Mr.--don't even know your name." She laughed. "What's +your name, Mr. Man?" + +Van Landing hesitated. Caution and reserve were inherent +characteristics. Before the child's eyes they faded. + +"Van Landing," he said. "Stephen Van Landing." + +"Mine is Carmencita. Father named me that because when I was a teensy +baby I kicked my feet so, and loved my tambourine best of all my +things. Have you bought all your Christmas gifts, Mr. Van--I don't +remember the other part." + +"I haven't any to buy--and no one to buy for. That is--" + +"Good gracious!" The child turned quickly; in her eyes and voice +incredulity was unrestrained. "I didn't know there was anybody in all +the world who didn't have anybody to buy for! Are you--are you very +poor, Mr. Van? You look very nice." + +"I think I must be very poor." Van Landing fastened his glasses more +securely on his nose. "I'm quite sure of it. It has been long since I +cared to buy Christmas presents. I give a few, of course, but--" + +"And don't you have Christmas dinner at home, and hang up your +stocking, and buy toys and things for children, and hear the music in +the churches? I know a lot of carols. Father taught me. I'll sing one +for you. Want me? Oh, I believe they are coming out! Father said they +wouldn't want him as long as the others. If I lived in a palace and +was a royal lady I'd have a harp longer than anything else, but Father +says it's on account of the food. Food is awful high, and people would +rather eat than hear harps. Oh, there's Father! I must go, Mr. Van. +Thank you ever so much for holding me." + +With a movement that was scientific in its dexterity the child slipped +from Van Landing's arms and jumped from the railing to the porch, and +without so much as a turn of the head ran down the steps and across +the street. Darting in between two large motor-cars, Van Landing saw +her run forward and take the hand of a man who was standing near the +side-entrance of the house in which the wedding had taken place. It +was too dark to distinguish his face, and in the confusion following +the calling of numbers and the hurrying off of guests he felt +instinctively that the man shrank back, as is the way of the blind, +and an impulse to go over and lead him away made him start down the +steps. + +At the foot he stopped. To go over was impossible. He would be +recognized. For half a moment he hesitated. It was his dinner hour, +and he should go home; but he didn't want to go home. The stillness +and orderliness of his handsome apartment was suddenly irritating. It +seemed a piece of mechanism made to go so smoothly and noiselessly +that every element of humanness was lacking in it; and with something +of a shiver he turned down the street and in the direction opposite to +that wherein he lived. The child's eyes had stirred memories that must +be kept down; and she was right. He was a poor man. He had a house, +but no home, and he had no Christmas presents to buy. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +"Mr. Van! Mr. Van!" + +He turned quickly. Behind, his new-made acquaintance was making effort +to run, but to run and still hold the hand of her father was +difficult. With a smile he stopped. + +"Oh, Mr. Van!" The words came breathlessly. "I was so afraid we would +lose you! Father can't cross quick, and once I couldn't see you. Here +he is, Father." She took Van Landing's hand and laid it in her +father's. "He can tell by hands," she said, "whether you're a nice +person or not. I told him you didn't have anybody, and--" + +Van Landing's hand for a moment lay in the stranger's, then he shook +the latter's warmly and again raised his hat. In the circle of light +caused by the electric lamp near which they stood the blind man's face +could be seen distinctly, and in it was that one sees but rarely in +the faces of men, and in Van Landing's throat came sudden tightening. + +"Oh, sir, I cannot make her understand, cannot keep her from talking +to strangers!" The troubled voice was of a strange quality for so +shabbily clothed a body, and in the eyes that saw not, and which were +lifted to Van Landing's, was sudden terror. "She believes all people +to be her friends. I cannot always be with her, and some day--" + +"But, Father, you said that whoever didn't have any friends must be +our friend, because--because that's all we can be--just friends. And +he hasn't any. I mean anybody to make Christmas for. He said so +himself. And can't he go with us to-night and see the shops? I know +he's nice, Father. Please, please let him!" + +The look of terrified helplessness which for a moment swept over the +gentle face, wherein suffering and sorrow had made deep impress, but +in which was neither bitterness nor complaint, stirred the heart +within him as not for long it had been stirred, and quickly Van +Landing spoke. + +"It may not be a good plan generally, but this time it was all right," +he said. "She spoke to me because she thought I could not see what +was going on across the street, and very kindly shared her better +position with me. I--" He hesitated. His name would mean nothing to +the man before him. Their worlds were very different worlds. It was +possible, however, that this gentle, shrinking creature, with a face +so spiritualized by life's denials that it shamed him as he looked, +knew more of his, Van Landing's, world than he of the blind man's, and +suddenly, as if something outside himself directed, he yielded to a +strange impulse. + +It was true, what the child had said. He had few friends--that is, +friends in the sense the child meant. Of acquaintances he had many, +very many. At his club, in business, in a rather limited social set, +he knew a number of people well, but friends--If he were to die +to-morrow his going would occasion but the usual comment he had often +heard concerning others. Some years ago he had found himself +continually entertaining what he called his friends, spending foolish +sums of money on costly dinners, and quite suddenly he had quit. As +long as he entertained he was entertained in return, and for some time +after he stopped he still received invitations of many sorts, but in +cynical realization of the unsatisfactoriness of his manner of life +he had given it up, and in its place had come nothing to answer the +hunger of his heart for comradeship and human cheer. His opinion of +life had become unhealthy. As an experience for which one is not +primarily responsible it had to be endured, but out of it he had +gotten little save what men called success; and that, he had long +since found, though sweet in the pursuit, was bitter in achievement if +there was no one who cared--and for his nobody really cared. This +blind man with the shabby clothes and ill-nourished body was richer +than he. He had a child who loved him and whom he loved. + +"It is true what your little girl has told you." Van Landing took off +his glasses and wiped them. "I have no one to make Christmas for, and +if you don't mind I wish you would let me go with you to the shops +to-night. I don't know much about Christmas buying. My presents are +chiefly given in mon----I mean I don't know any little children." + +"And I know forty billion!" Carmencita's arms were outstretched and +her hands came together with ecstatic emphasis. "If I didn't stop to +blink my eyes between now and Christmas morning I couldn't buy fast +enough to fill all the stockings of the legs I know if I had the money +to buy with. There's Mrs. McTarrens's four, and the six Blickers, and +the ashman's eight, and the Roysters, and little Sallie Simcoe, and +old Mr. Jenkinson, and Miss Becky who mends pants and hasn't any front +teeth, and Mr. Leimberg. I'd get him specs. He has to hold his book +like this"--and the palms of two little red hands were held close to +Carmencita's eyes. "Oh, Father, please let him go!" + +Hesitating, the blind man's eyes were again upturned, and again Van +Landing spoke. + +"You are right to be careful; but you need not fear. My name is Van +Landing, and my office--" + +"You are a gentleman!" Two hands with their long slender fingers were +outstretched, and swiftly they stroked Van Landing's arms and body and +face. "Your voice, your hands, tell me your class, and your clothes +that you have money. Why--oh, why do you want to go with us?" Quickly +his right hand drew his child toward him, and in terror he pressed her +to his side. "She is my all, my light, my life! Away from her I am in +darkness you could not understand. No, you must not go with us. You +must go away and leave us!" + +For a moment Van Landing hesitated, puzzled by the sudden fear in the +man's face, then over his own crept grayness, and the muscles in it +stiffened. + +"My God!" he said, and his mouth grew dry. "Have men brought men to +this?" + +For another half-moment there was silence which the child, looking +from one to the other, could not understand, and her hands, pressed +close to her breast, gripped tightly her cold fingers. Presently Van +Landing turned. + +"Very well," he said. "I will go. It was just that I know little of a +real Christmas. Good night." + +"Oh, don't go--don't go, Mr. Van! It's going to be Christmas two days +after to-morrow, Father, and the Christ-child wouldn't like it if you +let him go!" Carmencita held the sleeve of Van Landing's coat with a +sturdy clutch. "He isn't a damanarkist. I can tell by his eyes. They +are so lonely-looking. You aren't telling a story, are you Mr. Van? Is +it truly truth that you haven't anybody?" + +"It is truly truth," he said. "I mean anybody to make Christmas for." + +"No mother or father or a little girl like me? Haven't you even got a +wife?" + +"Not even a wife." Van Landing smiled. + +"You are as bad as Miss Barbour. She hasn't anybody, either, now, she +says, 'most everybody being--" + +"Miss who?" Van Landing turned so sharply that the child jumped. "Who +did you say?" + +"Miss Barbour." The eyes which were so like those he could not forget +were raised to his. "If you knew Miss Barbour she could tell you of +plenty of people to make Christmas for. She's living right now with +Mother McNeil, who isn't really anybody's mother, but just +everybody's. But she don't live there all the time. Most of her people +are dead or married and don't need her, so she came to Mother McNeil +to see how children down there live. What's the matter, Mr. Van?" + +To hide the upleaping flame in his face and the sudden trembling of +his hands Van Landing stooped down and picked up the handkerchief he +had dropped; then he stepped back and out of the circle of light in +which he had been standing. For a moment he did not speak lest his +voice be as unsteady as his hands, but, taking out his watch, he +looked at it, then put it back with fumbling fingers. + +"Her first name--Miss Barbour's first name," he said, and the dryness +of his throat made his words a little indistinct. "What is it?" + +With mouth rounded into a little ball, Carmencita blew on her stiff +finger-tips. "Frances," she said, and first one foot and then the +other was stamped for purpose of warmth. "The damanarkist says God +made her, but the devil has more to do with most women than anybody +else. He don't like women. Do you know her, Mr. Van?" + +"If your friend is my friend--I know her very well," he said, and put +his hands in his pockets to hide the twitching of his fingers. "A long +time ago she was the only real friend I had, and I lost her. I have +wanted very much to find her." + +"Oh, Father, if he knows Miss Barbour he's bound to be all right!" +Carmencita's arms were flung above her head and down again, and on her +tiptoes she danced gaily round and round. "We can show him where she +lives." She stopped. "No, we can't. She told me I must never do that. +I mustn't send any one to her, but I could tell her of anybody I +wanted her to know about." Head uplifted, her eyes searched Van +Landing's, and her words came in an awed whisper, "Was--was she your +sweetheart, Mr. Van?" + +"She was." Again Van Landing wiped his forehead. It didn't in the +least matter that he was telling to this unknown child the most +personal of matters. Nothing mattered but that perhaps he might find +Frances. "You must take me to her," he said. "I must see her +to-night." + +"I can't take you to see her to-night. She wouldn't like it. Oh, I +know!" Carmencita made another rapid whirl. "We can go down-town and +get"--she nodded confidentially to her new-made friend and pointed her +finger in her father's direction--"and then we can come back and have +some toast and tea; and then I'll send for Miss Barbour to come quick, +as I need her awful, and when she comes in you can say: 'Oh, my lost +and loved one, here I am! We will be married right away, this minute!' +I read that in a book once. Won't it be grand? But you won't--" The +dancing ceased, and her hands stiffened in sudden anxiety. "You won't +take her away, will you?" + +"If she will come with me I will not take her where she won't come +back. Can't we start?" + +But the child was obdurate. She would do nothing until her purchase +was made, and to her entreaties her father finally yielded, and a few +minutes later Van Landing and his new acquaintances were on a +down-town car, bound for a shopping district as unknown to him as the +shops in which he was accustomed to deal were unknown to them. + +Still a bit dazed by his chance discovery, he made no comment on the +child's continual chatter, but let her exuberance and delight have +full play while he tried to adjust himself to a realization that made +all thought but a chaotic mixture of hope and doubt, of turbulent fear +and determined purpose, and of one thing only was he sure. Three years +of his life had been wasted. Another hour should not be lost were it +in his power to prevent. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +When the store was reached Van Landing for the first time was able to +see distinctly the faces of Carmencita and her father, and as for a +moment he watched the slim little body in its long coat, once the +property, undoubtedly, of a much bigger person, saw her eager, +wonder-filled eyes, and the wistful mouth which had learned to smile +at surrender, the strings of his heart twisted in protest, and for the +"damanarkist" of whom she had spoken, for the moment he had sympathy +of which on yesterday there would have been no understanding. She +could not be more than twelve or thirteen, he thought, but condition +and circumstance had made her a woman in many matters, and the art of +shopping she knew well. Slowly, very slowly, she made her way to the +particular counter at which her precious purchase was to be made, +lingering here and there to gaze at things as much beyond her hope of +possession as the stars of heaven; and, following her slow-walking, +Van Landing could see her eyes brighten and yearn, her lips move, her +hand outstretch to touch and then draw back quickly, and also every +now and then he could see her shake her head. + +"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you do that? Is there anything in here +you would like to get, besides the thing you came for?" + +"Anything I'd like to get!" The words were repeated as if not heard +aright. "Anybody would know you'd never been a girl. There isn't much +in here I wouldn't like to get if I didn't have to pay for it." + +"But not rattles and dolls and drums and pop-guns and boxing-gloves +and all the other things you've looked at. Girls of your age--" + +"This girl wasn't looking at them for herself. I'm 'most grown up now. +But everybody on our street has got a baby, and a lot of children +besides. Mrs. Perry has twins and a baby, and Mrs. Latimer always has +two on a bottle at the same time. I'm just buying things in my mind. +It's the only way I can buy 'em, and Christmas wouldn't be Christmas +if you couldn't buy some way. Sallie Simcoe will go crazy if she don't +get a doll that whistles. She saw one in a window once. It was a +Whistling Jim and cost a dollar. She won't get it. Oh, here it is, Mr. +Van! Here's the counter where the jewelry things are." + +As she neared it she nodded to Van Landing and pointed to her father, +who, hand on her shoulder, had kept close to her, then beckoned him to +come nearer. "He can't see, I know"--her voice was excited--"but take +him away, won't you? I wouldn't have him guess it, not for _anything_ +on earth! I'll be through in a minute." + +In moments incredibly few, but to Van Landing tormentingly long, she +was back again, and close to her heart she was hugging a tiny package +with one hand, while the other was laid on her father's arm. "I got +it," she whispered; "it's perfectly beautiful." She spoke louder. "I +guess we'd better be going now. I know you're hungry, and so am I. +Come on. We can walk home, and then I'll make the tea." + +For a second Van Landing hesitated, then he followed the odd-looking +couple out into the street, but as they started to turn the corner he +stopped. + +"I say"--he cleared his throat to hide its embarrassed +hesitation--"don't you want to do me a favor? Where I live I don't +buy the things I eat, and I've often thought I'd like to. If you are +going to make the tea and toast, why can't I get the--the chicken, +say, and some salad and things? That's a good-looking window over +there with cooked stuff in it. We'll have a party and each put in +something." + +"Chicken?" Into his face the child gazed with pitying comprehension of +his ignorance, and in her voice was shrill amusement. "_Chicken!_ Did +you ever price one? I have, when I'm having kings and queens taking +dinner with me in my mind. People don't have chicken 'cept at +Christmas, and sometimes Sundays if there hasn't been anybody out of +work for a long time. Come on. I've got a box of sardines. Just think, +Father, he wants to buy a _chicken_!" + +With a gay little laugh in which was shrewd knowledge of the +unthinkableness of certain indulgences, the child slipped one arm +through her father's and another through Van Landing's, and with a +happy skip led the way down the poorly lighted street. A solid mass of +dreary-looking houses, with fronts unrelieved by a distinguishing +feature, stretched as far as the eye could see, and when a few blocks +had been walked it was with a sense of relief that a corner was +turned and Van Landing found himself at the foot of a flight of steps +up which the child bounded and beckoned him to follow. + +The house was like the others, one of a long row, and dull and dark +and dingy, but from its basement came a baby's wailing, while from the +floor above, as the hall was entered, could be heard the rapid click +of a sewing-machine. Four flights of steps were mounted; then +Carmencita took the key from her father's pocket and opened the door. + +"This is our suite," she said, and courtesied low. "Please strike a +match, if you have one, Mr. Van. This house is very old, and history +houses don't have electric lights. The ghosts wouldn't like it. Some +of my best friends are ghosts. I'll be back in a minute." + +As she ran into the little hall room adjoining the large room which he +saw comprised their "suite," Van Landing lighted the lamp near the +mantel and looked around. In the center was a marble-topped table, and +on it a lamp, a work-basket, and several magazines with backs half +gone. The floor was bare save for a small and worn rug here and there, +and on the sills of the uncurtained windows two hardy geraniums were +blooming bravely. A chest of drawers, a few chairs, a shelf of books, +a rug-covered cot, a corner cupboard, a wash-stand behind a screen, +and a small table near the stove, behind which a box of wood could be +seen, completed its furnishings; and still, despite its bareness, +there was something in it which was not in the place wherein he lived, +and wonderingly he again looked around. Had he found himself in the +moon or at the bottom of the Dead Sea it would be hardly less +remarkable than finding himself here. Adventures of this sort were +entirely out of his experience. As regulated as a piece of machinery +his life had become of late, and the routine of office and club and +house had been accepted as beyond escape, and the chance meeting of +this little creature-- + +"Oh, my goodness! I forgot to put the kettle on!" + +With a spring that came apparently from the door opposite the stove +near which he was standing Carmencita was by his side, and, swift +movement following swift movement, the lid of the stove was lifted, +wood put in, the kettle of water put on, and the table drawn farther +out in the floor. A moment more the lamp was lighted, her father's +coat and hat in place, his chair drawn up to the now roaring fire; +then, with speculation in her eyes, she stood for half a moment, hands +on hips, looking first at Van Landing and then at the cupboard in the +corner. + +For the first time he saw well the slender little body out of its +long, loose coat, the heavy, brown curls which tumbled over the oval +face, the clear eyes that little escaped, so keen was their quality, +and the thin legs with their small feet in large shoes, and as he +looked he smiled. + +"Well," he asked, "can I help you? You seem very uncertain." + +"I am. Put your hat and coat over there"--she pointed to the covered +cot close to the wall--"then come back and tell me." + +He did as directed and, hands in pockets, stood again in front of her. +"Is"--his face whitened--"is it about Miss Barbour? Can you send her +word?" + +"Send now? I guess not!" On tiptoes the child looked for something on +the mantel-piece. "We haven't had supper yet, and I'm so hungry I +could eat air. Besides, she has a class to-night--The Little Big +Sisters. I'm one when I can go, but I can't go often." She waved her +hand in the direction of her father. "I'll send for her 'bout half +past nine. Which do you like best, sardines with lemon on 'em, or +toasted cheese on toast with syrup afterward? Which?" + +The tone was one of momentous inquiry. Miss Barbour's coming was a +matter that could wait, but supper necessitated a solemn decision +which must be made at once. Hands clasped behind her, the blue eyes +grew big with suspense, and again she repeated, "Which?" + +"I really don't know. Both are very good. I believe I like sardines +better than--Oh no, I don't." He had caught the flicker of +disappointment in the anxious little face. "I mean I think toasted +cheese the best thing to eat that's going. Let's have that!" + +"All right." With another spring the child was at the cupboard, and +swiftly she went to work. "Read to father, won't you?" she called, +without looking round. "In that magazine with the geranium leaf +sticking out is where I left off. You'll have to read right loud." + +Drawing his chair close to the lighted lamp, Van Landing took his seat +near the blind musician, and for the first time noticed the slender, +finely formed fingers of the hands now resting on the arms of the +chair in which he sat; noticed the shiny, well-worn coat and the lock +of white hair that fell across the high forehead; saw the sensitive +mouth; and as he looked he wondered as to the story that was his. An +old one, perhaps. Born of better blood than his present position +implied, he had evidently found the battle of life more than he was +equal to, and, unfit to fight, he had doubtless slipped down and down +in the scale of human society until to-day he and his child were +dwellers on the borderland of the slums. + +He found the article and began to read. The technicalities of musical +composition had never appealed to him, but, though by him the writer's +exhaustive knowledge of his subject was not appreciated, by his +listener it was greatly so, and, in tense eagerness to miss no word, +the latter leaned forward and kept his sightless eyes in the direction +of the sound of his voice. + +Not for long could he read, however. In a few moments Carmencita's +hands were outstretched, and, giving one to each, she led them to the +table, and at it he sat down as naturally as though it were a familiar +occurrence. In the center was a glass jar with a spray of red geranium +in it, and behind the earthen tea-pot the child presided with the +ease of long usage. As she gave him his tea he noticed it was in the +only unchipped cup, and on the one kept for herself there was no +handle. Under his breath he swore softly. Why--He mentally shook +himself. This was no time for why-ing. + +[Illustration: "WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR +TOASTED CHEESE ON TOAST?"] + +As an appetizer the toasted cheese on toasted bread was excellent, but +the supper--if she had only let him get it. He had not dared insist, +and never had he been more consciously a guest, but could people live +on fare so scant as this? It was like Frances to want to know how +other people lived--and not to be content with knowing. But after she +knew how could she sleep at night? Great God! If there was to be a day +of judgment what could men say--men like himself and his friends? + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +For half an hour longer Carmencita chatted gaily, offering dish after +dish of imaginary food with the assurance that it would cause no +sickness or discomfort, and at the child's spirit and imagination Van +Landing marveled. The years of ignorance and indifference, in which he +had not cared to know what Frances knew all men should know, came back +disquietingly, and he wondered if for him it were too late. + +As Carmencita got up to clear the table he took out his watch and +looked at it, then put it quickly back lest she should see. Who was +going to take the note? Why couldn't he go to the place at which was +held the class of Little Big Sisters and get Frances? With a quick +indrawing breath he handed his host cigars. + +"I hope you smoke," he said; "that is, if Carmencita does not object." + +"Oh, I don't object. Smoke!" Carmencita's hand was waved. "After I +wash the dishes I'll write the note, then I'll go down and get Noodles +to take it. I'll ask Mr. Robinsky to bring the harp up, Father. He +brought it home for us; he's a flute-er." The explanation was made to +Van Landing. "He always brings it home when Father and I are going +somewhere else. Smoke, please. I love to smell smoke smell." + +With a splash the remaining water in the tea-kettle was poured in the +dish-pan, and for a few moments the clatter of knives and forks and +spoons prevented talk. Over the blind man's face crept the content +that comes from a good cigar, and in silence he and his guest smoked +while Carmencita did her work. Not long was there silence, however, +for very shortly the child was on a stool at Van Landing's feet, in +her hands a pad of paper, and on her knee a backless magazine. + +For half a minute she looked in Van Landing's face. "Isn't it nice and +funny--your being here? I like you." Her voice was joyous. "If I tell +you something, you won't tell?" She leaned forward, hands on his +knees. "This afternoon before I went out I asked God please to let +something nice happen. There hasn't anything very nice happened for so +long, I was afraid He had forgot. What must I write, Mr. Van?" + +Into Van Landing's face the color surged, then died away and left it +strangely white. The child's eyes were holding his, and he did not try +to avoid them. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was to +get Frances quickly. + +"Tell her I must see her to-night, that I must come to her. Why can't +I go to her, Carmencita?" + +"Because she doesn't want anybody to come to see her that she doesn't +tell to come. She told me so herself, and I wouldn't break her rules +for a gold ring with a ruby in it. I know. I'll tell her I'm bound to +show her something to-night or I won't sleep a wink. And you'll be +_It_! You can go in Father's room, and when she comes in you will come +out and say--What will you say, Mr. Van?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps I sha'n't say anything. Sometimes one can't." + +"I'll look in that book I read once and see what he said, if you want +me to. It was a beautiful book. It had an awful lot of love in it. I +know what I'm going to write." + +For some moments she wrote laboriously on the pad, which wabbled +badly on her knees, then she folded the piece of paper and, getting +up, went toward the door. Van Landing followed her. + +"The boy," he said. "Will you give him this and tell him if the note +is delivered to Miss Barbour personally there will be more when he +comes back?" He held out his hand. + +As if not seeing aright, Carmencita looked closely at what was held +toward her, then up in Van Landing's face. "You must have plenty of +money, if you haven't any friends," she said, and in her voice was +faint suspicion. "Noodles can't have that. He'd never go anywhere for +me again if he got that much." Her hand waved his away. "When he comes +back, if you'll give him a quarter he'll stand on his head. It's hard +and hollow, and he makes right smart standing on it and wriggling his +feet." She shook her head. "It would ruin him to give him a dollar. +Please read to Father." + +Her visitor's face flushed. Why couldn't he remember? "Very well," he +said; "manage it your way. Tell him to hurry, will you?'" + +Would she come? With his lips Stephen Van Landing was pronouncing the +words of the article he had again begun to read to the blind harpist, +but in his heart, which was beating thickly, other words were surging, +and every now and then he wiped his forehead lest its dampness be seen +by the child's keen eyes. Would she come? Three years had passed since +senseless selfishness on his part had made her spirit flare and she +had given him back his ring. For a moment he had held it, and in the +dancing flames of the logs upon the hearth in the library of her +beautiful old-fashioned home its stones had gleamed brilliantly, +flashed protesting fire; then he had dropped it in the blaze and +turned and left the room. Had she forgotten, or had she suffered, too? + +With mechanical monotony the words continued to come from his lips, +but his thoughts were afar off, and presently Carmencita took the +magazine out of his hand. + +"Excuse me," she said, "but Father is asleep, and you don't know a +word you're saying. You might as well stop." + +Putting the magazine on the table, Carmencita drew the stool on which +she was sitting closer to Van Landing's chair, and, hands clasped +around her knees, looked up into his eyes. In hers was puzzled +questioning. + +"I beg your pardon." His face flushed under the grave scrutiny bent +upon him. "I was reading abominably, but I couldn't get my mind--" + +"I know," Carmencita nodded understandingly. "I do that way sometimes +when I'm saying one thing and thinking another, and Father always +takes a little nap until I get out of the clouds. He says I spend a +lot of my time in the clouds. I'm bound to soar sometimes. If I didn't +make out I wasn't really and truly living here, on the top floor, with +the Rheinhimers underneath, but just waiting for our house to be fixed +up, I couldn't stand it all the time. I'd go--" + +She hesitated, then again went on. "You see, it's this way. There 're +a lot of things I hate, but I've got to stand them, and the only way I +can do it is to get away from them in my mind sometimes. Father says +it's the way we stand things that proves the kind of person we are; +but Father is Father, and I am me, and letting out is a great relief. +Did you ever feel as if you're bound to say things sometimes?" + +"I'm afraid I've not only felt I had to say them, but I said them." +Van Landing looked at his watch. "Your Father is doubtless right, +but--" + +"Noodles hasn't had time to get back yet, and she might not be +there." Carmencita glanced toward the clock. "And Father is always +right. He's had to sit so many hours alone and think and think and +think, that he's had time to ask God about a good many things we don't +take time to ask about. I pray a lot, but my kind of prayers isn't +praying. They're mostly asking, and Father says prayer is +receiving--is getting God in you, I mean. I don't understand, but he +does, and he doesn't ask for things like I do, but for patience and +courage and--and things like that. No matter what happens, he keeps on +trusting. I don't. I'm not much of a truster. I want to do things my +way, myself." She leaned forward. "If I tell you something will you +promise not to tell anybody, not even Miss Frances when--when it's all +right?" + +"I promise." + +Van Landing nodded at the eager little face upraised to his. It was +singularly attractive and appealing, and the varying emotions that +swept over it indicated a temperament that took little in life calmly, +or as a commonplace happening, and a surge of protest at her +surroundings swept over him. + +"I promise," he repeated. "I won't tell." + +"Cross your heart and shut your eyes and I will tell you." + +Hands on his knees, Carmencita watched the awkward movements of Van +Landing's fingers, then she laughed joyously, but when she spoke her +voice was in a whisper. + +"I'm writing a book." + +"You are doing what?" + +"Writing a book! It's perfectly grand. That is, some days it is, but +most days it is a mess. It was a mess yesterday, and I burned up every +single word I wrote last week. I'll show it to you if you want to see +it." + +Without waiting for an answer Carmencita sprang to her feet, and with +noiseless movement skipped across the room, and from the middle drawer +of the chest between the windows took out a large flat box. + +"This is it." Again taking her seat on the stool at Van Landing's +feet, she opened the box carefully. One by one she lifted out of it +pieces of paper of varying size and color and held them toward her +visitor, who, hands clasped between knees, was bending forward and +watching with amazed interest the seemingly exhaustless contents of +the box beside him. + +"I use pad-paper when I have it." Several white sheets were laid in a +pile by themselves. "But most of the chapters are on wrapping-paper. +Mrs. Beckwith gives me all of hers, and so does Mrs. Rheinhimer when +her children don't chew it up before she can save it. That's chapter +fourteen. I don't like it much, it's so squshy, but I wrote it that +way because I read in a newspaper once that slops sold better than +anything else, and I'm writing this to sell, if I can." + +"Have you named it?" Van Landing's voice was as serious as +Carmencita's. "I've been told that a good title is a great help to a +book. I hope yours will bring you a good deal of money, but--" + +"So do I." Carmencita's hands came together fervently. "I'm bound to +make some money, and this is the only way I can think of until I'm +fourteen and can go to work. I'm just thirteen and two months, and I +can't go yet. The law won't let me. I used to think it took a lot of +sense to write a book, but the Damanarkist says it don't, and that +anybody who is fool enough to waste time could write the truck people +read nowadays. He don't read it, but I do, all I can get--I like it." + +"I've never tried to write." Van Landing again glanced at the clock. +Noodles was staying an interminably long time. "Like you, I imagined +it took some measure of ability--" + +"Oh, but it don't. I mean it doesn't take any to write things like +that." Carmencita's finger pointed to several backless magazines and a +couple of paper-bound books on the table behind her. "I read once that +people like to read things that make them laugh and cry and--and +forget about the rent money, and tell all about love-dovies and +villains and beautiful maidens, and my book's got some of all those +kinds of things in it. It hasn't got any--What did you say you thought +it took to write a book?" + +"Ability--that is, a little of it." + +"I guess that depends on the kind of book it is. I put something of +everything I could think of in mine, but I didn't put any ability in. +I didn't have any to put, and, besides, I wanted it to sell. That's +the chapter I love best." A large piece of brown paper was waved in +the air. "It's the one in which the Princess Patricia gets ready to +die because she hears her sweetheart making love to some one else, and +then she comes to her senses and makes him marry the other girl so +they can live miserable ever after, and the Princess goes about doing +good like Miss Frances. But I'm going to marry her to somebody before +I'm through--I'm--" + +"You believe in marriage, then." Van Landing smiled, and, stooping, +picked up several sheets of paper evidently torn from a blank-book. +"This must be the courtship chapter. It seems rather sentimental." + +"It is. Regular mush slush. It's the kind of courting a man who isn't +much does--that is, I guess it's the kind, but the Princess +understands. She's been fooled once. Tell me"--Carmencita leaned +forward and, arms again crossed on Van Landing's knees, looked +anxiously in his face--"what does a man say when he's really and truly +courting? I mean a nice man. When the Real one comes, the Right +one--what will he say? I'm just about there, and I don't know how to +go on." + +"I wish I could tell you." Van Landing leaned back in his chair and, +taking out his watch again, looked at it. "I shouldn't dare to try to +write a novel, consequently--" + +"I'll try anything while I'm waiting to go to work." Carmencita sat +back dejectedly. "Is a book a novel because it has love in it?" + +"It is generally supposed to be. When you are older you may write +your love scenes with greater knowledge and--" + +"No, I won't. I don't expect to have any love scenes when I get +married. I've read a lot of that, and it don't last. All I want my +husband to say is, 'Will you marry me, Carmencita?' and I will say, +'Yes,' and I hope we'll keep on liking each other. Some don't." Her +face changed, and she sat upright, her hands pressed to her breast. +"_This_ is a novel--to--night is! We're living one, and you're the +Prince and Miss Frances is the Princess, and I found you! Oh, my +goodness! what is that?" + +With a swift movement she was on her feet and at the door. Van +Landing, too, rose quickly. Below could be heard loud voices, the +moving of furniture, and the cries of frightened children, and +cautiously Carmencita turned the knob and went into the hall. + +"Old Beer-Barrel is drunk again." Tiptoeing to the banister, she +leaned over it. "When he gets like this he's crazy as a loon, and some +day he'll kill somebody. Goodness gracious! he's coming up here!" + +Before Van Landing could reach her she was inside and at the +wash-stand. Taking up the pitcher filled with water, she again ran +into the hall, and as the cursing, stumbling man began to mount the +stairs she leaned over the banister and poured the contents of the +pitcher on his head. As if shot, the man stood still, face upturned, +hair drenched, hands trembling, then he sat down on the steps. + +Giving the pitcher to Van Landing, she told him to fill it and pointed +to a faucet in the hall. "I don't think he'll need another; one is +generally enough. I've seen him like this before. His wife won't throw +water in his face, but I throw." She leaned farther over the railing. +"If you'll be quiet and go back quick I won't put any more water on +you; it's awful cold, but if you don't--" + +Slowly, and as if dazed, the man on the steps got up, and as he +disappeared Carmencita nodded to her visitor to go back to her Father, +now standing by the table. Closing the door, she came toward him and +pushed him again in his chair, smoothing lightly the snow-white hair +and kissing the trembling fingers, then at his feet she took her seat. + +"I'm so sorry he waked you. It was just old Beer-Barrel. He oughtn't +to drink"--she raised her eyes to Van Landing's--"but a man who's got +a wife like his is bound to do something, and sometimes I wish I could +put the water on her instead of him." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +For a moment Van Landing walked up and down the room, hands in his +pockets and heart pounding in a way of which he was ashamed. +Ordinarily the sight of a drunken man would have awakened little +emotion save disgust, but the realization of the helplessness of the +two people before him filled him with inward rage, and for some time +he could not trust himself to speak. A sickening horror of this +hideous side of life filled him with strange protest. Yesterday he had +not known and had not cared that such things could be, and now-- + +On Carmencita's face was none of the alarm that had come into his. Her +father, too, was getting over his fright. For this helpless old man +and fair, frail child, whose wit and courage were equal to situations +of which she had the right of childhood to be ignorant, the scene just +witnessed had the familiarity of frequent repetition, but for him it +was horribly new, and if the Damanarkist of whom Carmencita so often +spoke should come in he would be glad to shake his hand. + +A noise at the door made him start. They were coming. The boy and +Frances. He dug his hands deeper in his pockets to hide their +trembling, and his face went white. + +But it was not Noodles. It was Mr. Robinsky, who had brought the harp, +and, though he evidently intended to sit down and talk, with +consummate skill and grace he was led into the hall by Carmencita and +told good night with sweetness and decision. It was wonderfully +managed. No man could have done it, and in his heart Van Landing +thanked her; but before he could speak there was a loud pounding on +the door, and both he and Carmencita started nervously toward it. + +"It's Noodles. I know his knock." Carmencita's hands clasped tightly, +and in her voice was eager trembling. "I'm so excited I can't breathe +good! It's like being in a book. Go in the room over there quick, Mr. +Van. Come in!" + +With inward as well as outward rigidity Van Landing waited. To the +movements of Carmencita's hand waving him away he paid no attention. +In thick, heavy throbs his heart sent the blood to his face, then it +receded, and for a moment the room was dark and he saw nothing. To the +"come in" of Carmencita the door opened, and he looked in its +direction. Noodles was alone. + +"Where is she?" Carmencita's voice was high and shrill in excitement +and dismay. "I told you to wait for her! You know I told you to wait +for her!" + +Cap in hand, Noodles looked first at Van Landing and then at the +child. "Warn't no her to wait for," he said, presently. "She ain't +there, and she didn't go to the class to-night. Miss James went for +her. Some of her kin-folks is in town staying with some their +kin-folks, and she is spending the night with 'em." The now soiled and +crumpled note was held toward Carmencita. "She won't be back till day +after to-morrow, what's Christmas eve, though she might come back +to-morrow night, Fetch-It said. Warn't nobody there but +Fetch-It--leastways warn't nobody else I seen." + +Van Landing looked at Carmencita, then turned sharply and went over +toward the window. A choking, stifling sensation made breathing +difficult, and, the tension of the past few hours relaxed, he felt as +one on the edge of a precipice from which at any moment he might +topple over. It was too cold to open the window, but he must have air. +Going to the couch, he took up his hat and coat, then came back and +held out his hand. + +"Give him this"--he nodded at Noodles, "and tell your father good +night. And thank you, Carmencita, thank you for letting me come. +To-morrow--" The room was getting black. "I will see you to-morrow." + +A moment later he was out of the room and down the steps and on the +street, and in the darkness he walked as one who feels something in +his way he cannot see; and then he laughed, and the laugh was hard and +bitter, and in it was a sound that was not good to hear. + +The cold air stung his face, made breathing better, and after a while +he looked up. For many blocks he had walked unheedingly, but, hearing +a church-bell strike the hour, he took out his watch and glanced at +it. To go home was impossible. Turning into a side-street, he walked +rapidly in a direction that led he knew not whither, and for a while +let the stinging sensation of disappointment and rebellion possess him +without restraint. It was pretty cruel, this sudden shutting of the +door of hope in his face. The discovery of Frances's presence in the +city had brought again in full tumultuous surge the old love and +longing, and the hours of waiting had been well-nigh unendurable. And +now he would have to wait until day after to-morrow. He would go +to-morrow night to this Mother Somebody. What was her name? He could +remember nothing, was, indeed, as stupid as if he had been knocked in +the head. Well, he had been. Where did this woman live? The child had +refused to tell him. With a sudden stop he looked around. Where was +he? He had walked miles in and out of streets as unknown to him as if +part of a city he had never been in, and he had no idea where he was. +A sudden fear gripped him. Where did Carmencita live? He had paid no +attention to the streets they were on when she took him to the house +she called home. He was full of other thought, but her address, of +course, he would get before he left, and he had left without asking. +What a fool he was! What a stupid fool! For half a moment he looked +uncertainly up and down the street whose name he did not know. No +policeman was in sight; no one was in sight except a woman on the +opposite pavement, who was scurrying along with something under her +shawl hugged close to her breast, and a young girl who was coming his +way. Turning, he retraced his steps. He did not know in which +direction to go. He only knew he must keep on. Perhaps he could find +his way back to the place where Carmencita lived. + +He did not find it. Through the night he walked street after street, +trying to recall some building he had passed, but he had walked as +blind men walk, and nothing had been noticed. To ask of people what +they could not tell was useless. He did not know the name of the +street he wanted to find, and, moreover, a curious shrinking kept him +from inquiring. In the morning he would find it, but he did not want +to make demands upon the usual sources for help until he had exhausted +all other means of redeeming his folly in not learning Carmencita's +full name and address before he left her. Was a man's whole life to be +changed, to be made or unmade, by whimsical chance or by stupid +blunder? In the gray dawn of a new day he reached his home and went to +bed for a few hours' sleep. + +When, later, he left his house to renew his search for Carmencita the +weather had changed. It had begun to snow, and tiny particles of ice +stung his face as he walked, and the people who passed shivered as +they hurried by. On every street that offered chance of being the one +he sought he went up and down its length, and not until he felt he was +being noticed did he take into partial confidence a good-natured +policeman who had nodded to him on his third passing. The man was +kindly, but for hay-stack needles there was no time and he was +directed to headquarters. To find a house, number unknown, on a +street, name unknown, of a party, full name again unknown, was too +much of a puzzle for busy times like these. Any other time than +Christmas--He was turned from that an inquiry from a woman with a +child in her arms might be answered. + +"Any other time than Christmas!" + +With a sense of demoralization it was dawning on him that he might not +find her, or Carmencita, in time for Christmas, and he _must_ find +them. A great hunger for the day to be to him what it seemed to be to +others possessed him feverishly, and with eyes that saw what they had +never seen before he watched, as he walked, the faces of the people +who passed, and in his heart crept childish longing to buy something +for somebody, something that was wanted very much, as these people +seemed to be doing. He had made out the checks he usually sent to +certain institutions and certain parties at this season of the year +for his head clerk to mail. By this time they had been received, but +with them had gone no word of greeting or good will; his card alone +had been inclosed. A few orders had been left at various stores, but +with them went no Christmas spirit. He wondered how it would feel to +buy a thing that could make one's face look as Carmencita's had looked +when she made her purchase of the night before. It was a locket she +had bought--a gold locket. + +In a whispered confidence while in the car she had told him it was for +her mother's picture. The picture used to be in her father's watch, +but the watch had to be sold when he was sick, after her mother's +death, and he had missed the touch of the picture so. She knew, for +often she had seen him holding his watch in his hand, open at the +back, where the picture lay, with his fingers on it, and sometimes he +would kiss it when he thought she was out of the room. After the watch +was sold the picture had been folded up in one of her mother's +handkerchiefs, and her father kept it in the pocket of his coat; but +once it had slipped out of the handkerchief, and once through a hole +in the pocket, and they thought it was lost. Her father hadn't slept +any that night. And now he could sleep with the locket around his +neck. She would put it on a ribbon. Wasn't it grand? And Carmencita's +hands had clasped ecstatically. + +Up and down the streets he went, looking, looking, looking. The +district in which he found himself was one of the poorest in the city, +but the shops were crowded with buyers, and, though the goods for sale +were cheap and common and of a quality that at other times would have +repelled, to-day they interested. Carmencita might be among the +shoppers. She had said she had a few things to get for some +children--penny things--and she was possibly out, notwithstanding the +snow which now was falling thick and fast. + +Some time after his usual lunch-hour he remembered he must have +something to eat; and, going into a dingy-looking restaurant, he sat +down at a table, the only one which had a vacant seat at it, and +ordered coffee and oysters. His table companion was a half-grown boy +with chapped hands and a thin white face; but his eyes were clear and +happy, and the piece of pie he was eating was being swallowed in huge +hunks. It was his sole order, a piece of awful-looking pie. As the +coffee and oysters were brought him Van Landing saw the boy look at +them hungrily and then turn his eyes away. + +"I beg your pardon." Van Landing, whose well-regulated life permitted +of few impulses, turned to the boy. "I ordered these things"--he +pointed to the steaming food--"and I don't want them. I want something +else. Would you mind having them? It's a pity to throw them away." + +The boy hesitated, uncertain what was meant, then he laughed. "It sure +is," he said. "If you don't want them I'll help you out. I'm hollow as +a hound what's been on a hunt. Good thing Christmas don't come but +once a year. You can cut out lunch better'n anything else for a +save-up, though. That girl over there"--he pointed his finger behind +him--"ain't had nothing but a glass of milk for a month. She's got +some kiddie brothers and sisters, and they're bound to have Christmas, +she says. Rough day, ain't it?" + +Van Landing gave another order. Had it not been for the gnawing +restlessness, the growing fear, which filled him, the scene would have +interested. A few days ago he would have seen only the sordid side of +it, the crudeness and coarseness; but the search he was on had +humanized what hitherto had only seemed a disagreeable and +objectionable side of life, and the people before him were of an odd +kinship. In their faces was hunger. There were so many kinds of hunger +in the world. He got up, and with a nod to the boy paid his bill and +went out. + +Through the afternoon hours he walked steadily. Dogged determination +made him keep on, just as sensitive shrinking prevented his making +inquiries of others. It was silly to ask what couldn't be answered. He +must have been mad the night before not to have noticed where he was +going, not to have asked Carmencita her name. + +By four o'clock the street-lights had been turned on, making of the +dark, dingy tenements a long lane with high, unbroken walls, and on a +corner he stood for a moment wondering which was the best way to go. +To his left were shops; he went toward them, and each face of the +children coming in or going out was scanned intently. Seeing a group +pressed close to a window in which was displayed an assortment of +dolls of all sorts and sizes, with peculiar clothing of peculiar +colors, he went toward them, stood for a moment by their side. One of +the children was the size of Carmencita. + +"That's mine--that one in the pink-silk dress"--a dirty little finger +was pointed to a huge and highly decorated doll in the center of the +window--"that and the blue beads, and that box of paints with the +picture on it, and--" + +"You're a pig, all right. Want the earth, don't you? Well, you can't +have it." And valiantly a child with a shawl on her head pushed closer +to the window, now clouded by the steam from many little mouths. "I +want that one--the one in long clothes with a cap on. What you want, +Lizzie Lue? Look out there and keep your elbows where they +belong"--this to the jostling, pushing crowd behind. "Come on, kid; +kick if you have to; only way you can manage some folks. Which one you +want, Lizzie Lue?" And a tiny scrap of a child was held up in arms but +little bigger than her own. + +As Van Landing listened a sudden impulse to take the children in and +get for them the things they wanted came over him; then he walked +away. If only he could find Carmencita and let her do the buying. Was +Christmas like this every year? These children with no chance--was +there no one to give them their share of childhood's rights? +Settlement workers, churches, schools, charity associations--things of +that sort doubtless saw to them. It was not his business. But wasn't +it his business? Could it possibly be his business to know--and care? + +"I beg your pardon, sir." + +Van Landing looked up. A tall, slender man in working-clothes, a +basket on one arm, his wife holding to the other, tried to touch his +hat. "The crowd makes walking hard without pushing. I hope I didn't +step on your foot." + +"Didn't touch it." The man had on no overcoat, and his hands were red +and chapped. He was much too thin for his height, and as he coughed +Van Landing understood. "Shopping, I suppose?" + +Why he asked he did not know, and it was the wife he asked, the young +wife whose timid clutch of her husband's arm was very unlike the +manner of most of the women he had passed. She looked up. + +"We were afraid to wait until to-morrow, it's snowing so hard. We +might not be able to get out, and the children--" + +"We've got three kiddies home." The man's thin face brightened, and he +rubbed his coat sleeve across his mouth to check his cough. "Santa +Claus is sure enough to them, and we don't want 'em to know different +till we have to. A merry Christmas, sir!" + +As they went on Van Landing turned and looked. They were poor people. +But were they quite so poor as he? He had seen many for whom he might +have made Christmas had he known in time--might have saved the +sacrifices that had to be made; but would it then have been Christmas? +Slowly, very slowly, in the shabby street and snow-filled air, an +understanding of things but dimly glimpsed before was coming to him, +and he was seeing what for long had been unseen. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +"Think hard, Father--oh, _please_ think hard! It was Van--Van--" +Carmencita, hands clutched tightly behind her back, leaned forward on +her tiptoes and anxiously peered into her father's face for sign of +dawning memory. "If I hadn't been so Christmas-crazy I'd have listened +better, but I wasn't thinking about his name. Can't you--_can't_ you +remember the last part? It was Van--Van--" + +Slowly her father shook his head. "I wish I could, Carmencita. I don't +hear well of late and I didn't catch his name. You called him Mr. +Van." + +"I called him that for short. I'm a cutting-down person even in +names." The palms of Carmencita's hands came together and her fingers +interlocked. "If I'd had more sense and manners I'd have called his +name right from the first, and we wouldn't have lost him. I could +have found him to-day if I'd known what to look for in the +telephone-book, or if Miss Frances had been at Mother McNeil's. She +might as well be lost, too, but she'll be back at seven, and that's +why I am going now, so as to be there the minute she gets in, to ask +her what his--" + +"She might not like your asking, Carmencita. You must be careful, +child. Miss Barbour is not a lady one can--" + +"Not a lady one can what?" Carmencita stopped her nervous swaying, and +the big blue eyes looked questioningly at her father. "Was there ever +a lady who didn't want to find her lost lover if he was looking for +her? That's what he is. And she wants to find him, if she don't know +it exactly. She's working it off down here with us children, but she's +got something on her mind. He's it. We've got to find him, Father--got +to!" + +With a dexterous movement of her fingers Carmencita fastened the +buttons of her coat and pulled her hat down on her head. "I'm going +back to Mother McNeil's," she said, presently, and the large and +half-worn rubbers which she had tied on over her shoes were looked at +speculatively. "The Damanarkist is going to take me. As soon as Miss +Frances tells me Mr. Van's name I'll telephone him to come quick, but +I won't tell her that. She might go away again. In that slushy book I +read the girl ought to have been shook. She was dying dead in love +with her sweetheart and treated him like he was a poodle-dog. Miss +Frances wouldn't do that, but I don't know what she might do, and I'm +not going to tell her any more than I can help. I want her to think it +just happened. Good-by, and go to sleep if you want to, but don't +smoke, please. You might drop the sparks on your coat. Good-by." + +With a swift kiss she was gone and, meeting the Damanarkist, who was +waiting outside the door, they went down the three flights of steps +and out into the street. The wind was biting, and, turning up the +collar of her coat, Carmencita put her hands in her pockets and made +effort to walk rapidly through the thick snow into which her feet sank +with each step. For some minutes conversation was impossible. Heads +ducked to keep out of their faces the fast-falling flakes, they +trudged along in silence until within a few doors of Mother McNeil's +house, and then Carmencita looked up. + +"Do--do you ever pray, Mr. Leimberg--pray hard, I mean?" + +"Pray!" The Damanarkist drew in his breath and laughed with smothered +scorn. "Pray! Why should I pray? I cut out prayer when I was a kid. +No, I don't pray." + +"It's a great comfort, praying is." Carmencita's hand was taken out of +her pocket and slipped through the arm of her disillusioned friend. +"Sometimes you're just bound to pray. It's like breathing--you can't +help it. It--it just rises up. I prayed yesterday for--for something, +and it pretty near happened, but--" + +"And you think your praying helped to make it happen!" Mr. Leimberg +drew Carmencita's hand farther through his arm, and his lips twisted +in contemptuous pity. "You think there is a magician up--oh, +somewhere, who makes things happen, do you? Think--" + +"Yes." Carmencita's feet skipped in spite of the clogging snow. "I +think that somewhere there is Somebody who knows about everything, but +I don't think He means us to ask for anything we want just because we +want it and don't do a lick to get it. I've been praying for months +and months about my temper and stamping my foot when I get mad, and +if I remember in time and hold down the up-comings my prayers are +always answered; but when I let go and forget--" Carmencita whistled a +long, low, significant note. "I guess then I don't want to be +answered. I want to smash something. But I didn't pray yesterday about +tempers and stamping. It was pretty near a miracle that I asked for, +though I said I wasn't asking for miracles or--" + +"All people who pray ask for miracles. Since the days when men feared +floods and famines and pestilence and evil spirits they have cried out +for protection and propitiated what to them were gods." The +Damanarkist spit upon the ground as if to spew contempt of pretense +and cupidity. "I've no patience with it. If there is a God, He knows +the cursed struggle life is with most of us; and if there isn't, +prayer is but a waste of time." + +Carmencita lifted her eyes and for a moment looked in the dark, thin +face, embittered by the losing battle of life, as if she had not heard +aright, then she laughed softly. + +"If I didn't know you, dear Mr. Damanarkist, I'd think you really +meant it--what you said. And you don't. I don't guess there's anybody +in all the world who doesn't pray sometimes. Something in you does it +by itself, and you can't keep it back. You just wait until you feel +all lost and lonely and afraid, or so glad you are ready to sing out +loud, then you'll do it--inside, if you don't speak out. If I prayed +harder to have more sense and not talk so much, and not say what I +think about people, and not hate my ugly clothes so, and despise the +smell of onions and cabbage and soap-suds, I might get more answers, +but you can't get answers just by praying. You've got to work like the +mischief, and be a regular policeman over yourself and nab the bad +things the minute they poke their heads out. If I'd prayed differently +yesterday I wouldn't have been looking for--for somebody all to-day, +and be a jumping-jack to-night for fear I won't find him. Did--did you +ever have a sweetheart, Mr. Damanarkist?" Before answer could be made +Mother McNeil's house was reached, and with steps that were leaps +Carmencita was at the door, and a moment later inside. Finding that +Miss Frances had returned, she called to Mr. Leimberg to come for her +on his way back from the station library where he was to get his book, +and breathlessly she ran to Miss Barbour's door and knocked violently +upon it. + +To the "come in" she entered, eyes big and shining, and cheeks stung +into color by the bitter wind; and with a rush forward the hands of +her adored friend were caught and held with a tight and nervous grip. + +"Miss Frances! Miss Frances!" + +Two arms were flung around Miss Barbour's waist, and for a moment the +curly brown head was buried on her breast and words refused to come; +instead came breathing short and quick; then Carmencita looked up. + +"What--oh, what is his name, Miss Frances? He was found and now is +lost, and I promised--I promised I'd get you for him!" + +Frances Barbour lifted the excited little face and kissed it. "What's +the matter, Carmencita? You look as if you'd seen a ghost, and you're +talking as if--" + +"I'm crazy--I'm not. And there isn't any time to lose. He said he +_must_ find you before Christmas. There isn't a soul to make Christmas +for him, and he hasn't anybody to buy things for, and he's as lonely +as a--a desert person, and he doesn't want any one but you. Oh, Miss +Frances, what is his name?" + +Frances Barbour leaned back in the chair in which she had taken her +seat, and her face whitened. "What are you talking about, and who +is--" + +"I'm talking about--Him." On her knees Carmencita crouched against her +friend's chair, and her long, slender fingers intertwined with those +which had suddenly grown nerveless. "I'm talking about your +sweetheart, Miss Frances. I found him for you, and then I lost him. +I'll tell you how it happened after I know all of his name and--If you +had seen his face when I told him I knew you and knew where you lived +you'd hurry, you'd--" + +"If he wishes to see me, why doesn't he--I mean--" Sudden color surged +into the face turned from the child's eager eyes. "What are we talking +about, Carmencita? There is evidently some mistake." + +"There is. An awful one. It's three years old. And we're talking about +the gentleman Father and I met yesterday and lost last night. You're +his sweetheart, and he wants you for Christmas and for ever after, and +he may be dead by to-morrow if he doesn't find you. He came to our +house, and I wrote you a note to come, too, and when you didn't do it +he looked as if he'd been hit in the face and couldn't breathe good, +and he stumbled down the steps like a blind man, and we'd forgot to +tell him our name, and he didn't know the number of our house, and--" +She paused for breath and brushed back the curls from her face. "I +know he's been looking all day. Where does he live, Miss Frances, and +what is his name?" + +"If you will tell me of whom you are talking I will tell you whether +or not I know him. Until you do--" + +"I told you I didn't remember any of his name but the Van part. Don't +you know the name of the person you love best on earth? It's his name +I want." + +Frances Barbour got up and walked over to the bureau and opened its +top drawer. "You are asking questions that in any one else I would not +permit, Carmencita. I am sure you do not mean to be--" + +"I don't mean anything but that I want to know all of Mr. Van's name, +and if you don't tell me you are not a Christian!" + +With a change of expression Carmencita sprang to her feet and, hands +clasped behind her back, she stood erect, her eyes blazing with +indignation. "If you don't tell him where you are, don't let him come, +I'll think it's all just make-believe and put on, your coming and +doing for people you don't really and truly know, and doing nothing +for those you do, and letting the ones you love best be lonely and +miserable and having Christmas all by themselves when they're starving +hungry for you. What is his name?" Carmencita's voice was high and +shrill, and her foot was stamped vehemently. "What is his name?" + +"Stephen Van Landing." + +Face to face, Frances Barbour and Carmencita looked into each other's +eyes, then with a leap Carmencita was out of the room and down the +steps and at the telephone. With hands that trembled she turned the +pages of the book she was holding upside down, then with disgust at +her stupidity she righted it and ran her finger down the long line of +V's. Finding at last the name she wanted, she called the number, then +closed her eyes and prayed fervently, feverishly, and half-aloud the +words came jerkily: + +"O God, please let him be home, and let him get down here quick before +Miss Frances goes out. She and Mother McNeil are going somewhere and +won't be back until eleven, and that would be too late for him to +come, and--Hello!" The receiver was jammed closer to her ear. "Is +that Mr. Van Landing's house? Is he home? He--he--isn't home!" The +words came in a little wail. "Oh, he must be home! Are you +sure--_sure_? Where can I get him? Where is he? You don't know--hasn't +been at the office all day and hasn't telephoned? He's looking--I mean +I guess he's, trying to find somebody. Who is this talking? It's--it's +a friend of his, and tell him the minute he comes in to call up Pelham +4293 and ask for Miss Frances Barbour, who wants to talk to him. And +listen. Tell him if she's out to come to 14 Custer Street, to Mother +McNeil's, and wait until she gets home. Write it down. Got it? Yes, +that's it. Welcome. Good-by." + +The receiver was hung upon its hook, and for a moment Carmencita +stared at the wall; then her face sobered. The strain and tension of +the day gave way, and the high hopes of the night before went out as +at the snuffing of a candle. Presently she nodded into space. + +"I stamped my foot at Miss Frances. _Stamped my foot_! And I got mad, +and was impertinent, and talked like a gutter girl to a sure-enough +lady. Talked like--" + +Her teeth came down on her lips to stop their sudden quivering, and +the picture on the wall grew blurred and indistinct. + +"There isn't any use in praying." Two big tears rolled down her cheeks +and fell upon her hands. "I might as well give up." + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +For a half-moment after Carmencita left the room Frances Barbour stood +in the middle of the floor and stared at the door, still open, then +went over and closed it. Coming back to the table at which she had +been writing, she sat down and took up her pen and made large circles +on the sheet of paper before her. Slowly the color in her face cooled +and left it white. + +Carmencita was by nature cyclonic. Her buoyancy and bubbling spirits, +her enthusiasms and intensities, were well understood, but how could +she possibly know Stephen Van Landing? All day he had been strangely +on her mind, always he was in her heart, but thought of him was forced +to be subconscious, for none other was allowed. Of late, however, +crowd it back as she would, a haunting sense of his presence had been +with her, and under the busy and absorbed air with which she had gone +about the day's demands there had been sharp surge of unpermitted +memories of which she was impatient and ashamed. + +Also there had been disquieting questions, questions to which she had +long refused to listen, and in the crush and crowd they had pursued +her, peered at her in unexpected places, and faced her in the quiet of +her room, and from them she was making effort to escape when +Carmencita burst in upon her. The latter was too excited, too full of +some new adventure, to talk clearly or coherently. Always Carmencita +was adventuring, but what could she mean by demanding to know the name +of her sweetheart, and by saying she had found him and then lost him? +And why had she, Frances Barbour, told her as obediently as if their +positions were reversed and she the child instead of Carmencita? + +Elbow on the table and chin in the palm of her hand, she tapped the +desk-pad with her pen and made small dots in the large circles she had +drawn on the paper, and slowly she wrote a name upon it. + +What could Stephen Van Landing be doing in this part of the town? He +was one of the city's successful men, but he did not know his city. +Disagreeable sights and sounds had by him been hitherto avoided, and +in this section they were chiefly what was found. Why should he have +come to it? That he was selfish and absorbed in his own affairs, that +he was conventional and tradition--trained, was as true to-day, +perhaps, as when she had told him so three years ago, but had they +taught him nothing, these three years that were past? Did he still +think, still believe-- + +With a restless movement she turned in her chair, and her hands +twisted in her lap. Was she not still as stubborn as of old, still as +proud and impatient of restraint where her sense of freedom and +independence of action were in question, still as self-willed? And was +it true, what Carmencita had said--was she giving herself to others +and refusing herself to the only one who had the right to claim her, +the royal right of love? + +But how did she know he still needed her, wanted her? When she had +returned to her own city after long absence she had told of her +present place of residence to but few of her old friends. Her own +sorrow, her own sudden facing of the inevitable and unescapable, had +brought her sharply to a realization of how little she was doing with +the time that was hers, and she had been honest and sincere when she +had come to Mother McNeil's and asked to be shown the side of life she +had hitherto known but little--the sordid, sinful, struggling side in +which children especially had so small a chance. In these years of +absence he had made no sign. Even if it were true, what Carmencita had +said, that he--that is, a man named Van Something--was looking for +her, until he found her she could not tell him where she was. + +She had not wished her friends to know. Settlements and society were +as oil and water, and for the present the work she had undertaken +needed all her time and thought. If only people knew, if only people +understood, the things that she now knew and had come to understand, +the inequalities and injustices of life would no longer sting and +darken and embitter as they stung and darkened and embittered now, and +if she and Stephen could work together-- + +He was living in the same place, his offices were in the same place, +and he worked relentlessly, she was told. Although he did not know she +was in the city, she knew much of him, knew of his practical +withdrawal from the old life, knew of a certain cynicism that was +becoming settled; and a thousand times she had blamed herself for the +unhappiness that was his as well as hers. She loved her work, would +always be glad that she had lived among the people who were so +singularly like those other people who thought themselves so +different, but if he still needed her, wanted her, was it not her +duty-- + +With an impatient movement of her hands she got up and went over to +the window. There was no duty about it. It was love that called him to +her. She should not have let Carmencita go without finding from her +how it happened that she had met Stephen Van Landing on Custer Street. +She must go to Carmencita and ask her. If he were really looking for +her they might spend Christmas together. The blood surged hotly to her +face, and the beating of her heart made her hands unsteady. If +together-- + +A noise behind made her turn. Hand on the door-knob, Carmencita was +standing in the hall, her head inside the room. All glow was gone, and +hope and excitement had yielded to dejection and despair. + +"I just came to beg your pardon for--for stamping my foot, and I'm +sorry I said what I did." The big blue eyes looked down on the floor +and one foot twisted around the other. "It isn't any use to forgive +me. I'm not worth forgiving. I'm not worth--" + +The door was slammed violently, and before Miss Barbour could reach +the hall Carmencita was down the steps and out into the street, where +the Damanarkist was waiting. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Late into the night Stephen Van Landing kept up his hurried walking. +Again and again he had stopped and made inquiries of policemen, of +children, of men and women, but no one knew that of which he asked. A +blind man who played the harp, a child named Carmencita, a boy called +Noodles, a settlement house, he supposed, over which Mother Somebody +presided--these were all he had to go on. To ask concerning Miss +Barbour was impossible. He could not bring himself to call her name. +He would have to go to headquarters for help. To-morrow would be +Christmas eve. He _would not_ spend Christmas alone--or in the usual +way. + +"Say, mister, don't you wish you was a boy again? Get out the way!" + +With a push the boy swept by him, pulling on a self-constructed sleigh +a still smaller boy, and behind the two swarmed a bunch of yelling +youngsters who, as they passed, pelted him with snow. One of them +stopped to tie the string of his shoe, and, looking down, Van Landing +saw--Noodles. + +With a swift movement he reached down to grab him, but, thinking it +was a cop, the boy was up and gone with a flash and in half a moment +was out of sight. As swiftly as the boy Van Landing ran down the +street and turned the corner he had seen the boy turn. His heart was +beating thickly, his breath came unevenly, and the snow was blinding, +but there was no thought of stopping. He bumped into a man coming +toward him, and two hats flew in the air and on the pavement, but he +went on. The hat did not matter, only Noodles mattered, and Noodles +could no longer be seen. Down the street, around first one corner and +then another, he kept on in fierce pursuit for some moments; then, +finding breathing difficult, he paused and leaned against the step +railing of a high porch, to better get his bearings. Disappointment +and fury were overmastering him. It was impossible and absurd to have +within one's grasp what one had been looking for all day and part of +two nights, and have it slip away like that. + +"Come on. No use--that--" The policeman's voice was surly. "If you'll +walk quiet I won't ring up. If you don't you'll get a free ride. Come +on." + +"Come on?" Van Landing put his hand to his head. His hat was gone. He +looked down at his feet. They were soaking wet. His overcoat was +glazed with a coating of fine particles of ice, and his hands were +trembling. He had eaten practically nothing since his lunch of +Tuesday, had walked many miles, and slept but a few hours after a +night of anxious searching, and suddenly he felt faint and sick. + +"Come on?" he repeated. "Come where?" + +"Where you belong." The policeman's grasp was steadying. "Hurry up. I +can't wait here all night." + +"Neither can I." Van Landing took out his handkerchief and wiped his +face. "I wish you'd get my hat." The crowd was pressing closer. He was +losing time and must get away. Besides, he could not trust himself. +The man's manner was insolent, and he was afraid he would kick him. +Instead he slipped some money in his hand. + +"Mistake, my friend. You'd have your trouble for nothing if you took +me in. There's no charge save running. I want to find a boy who +passed me just now. Name is Noodles. Know him?" + +For a moment the cop hesitated. The man's voice, dress, manner, were +not the sort seen in this section, and the bill slipped in his hand +had a yellow tinge--still-- + +"I've dropped my hat. Get it, will you?" Van Landing threw some change +in the still gathering crowd, and as they scampered for it he turned +to the policeman, then caught hold of the railing. A hateful faintness +was coming over him again. On the edge of the crowd a girl with a +middle-aged woman had stopped, and the girl was making her way toward +him. + +"What is it, Mr. Cronklin? Not one of our boys?" The clear voice +reached him as if at his side. He steadied himself, stared, and tried +to speak. + +"Frances," he said, and held out his hands. "You've made me walk so +far, Frances, and Christmas is--" + +In the snow his feet slipped. The cop was such a fool. He had never +fainted in his life. + +Some one was standing near him. Who was it, and where was he? This +wasn't his room. On his elbow, he looked around. Nothing was +familiar. It must be a woman's room; he could see photographs and a +pin-cushion on the bureau, and flowers were growing on a table near +the window. The bed he was in was small and white. His was big and +brass. What had happened? Slowly it came to him, and he started to get +up, then fell back. The surge of blood receded, and again there was +giddiness. Had he lost her? Had she, too, slipped out of his hands +because of his confounded fall? It was a durned outrage that he should +have fallen. Who was that man with his back to the bed? + +The man turned. "All right, are you? That's good!" His pulse was felt +with professional fingers, but in the doctor's voice was frank +interest. "You were pretty nearly frozen, man. It's well she saw you." + +"Where is she?" Van Landing sat up. "Where are my clothes? I must get +up." + +"I guess not." The doctor laughed, but his tone was as decisive as his +act. Van Landing was pushed back on the pillow and the covering pulled +up. "Do you mean Miss Barbour?" + +"Yes. Where is Miss Barbour?" + +The doctor wrote something on a slip of paper. "Down-stairs, waiting +to hear how you are. I'll go down and tell her. I'll see you in the +morning." + +"Where am I? Whose house is this?" + +"Your house at present." The doctor laughed again. "It's Mother +McNeil's house, but all who need it use it, and you needed it, all +right. You struck your head on the bottom step of the porch three +doors from here. Had it been an inch nearer the temple--Pretty bad +knock-out, as it was, but you'll be all right to-morrow. If you wake +up in a couple of hours take another one of these"--a pill was +obediently swallowed--"but you're to see no one until I see you again. +No talking." + +"Sorry, but I must see Miss Barbour." In Van Landing's voice was sharp +fear. "Christmas isn't over yet? I haven't missed it, have I? Are you +sure she's in this house?" + +"Sure. She's getting ready for to-morrow. To-morrow will be the +busiest day in the year. It's Christmas eve." + +Van Landing slipped down in the bed and his face went deep in the +pillows. Reaction was on. A horrible fear that he was going to cry, +going to do some abominably childish thing, made him stuff the +covering in his mouth and press his feet hard against the foot of the +bed. He would _not_ be cheated out of Christmas! He had believed he +hated it, thought he wanted to be dead during it, and now if it were +over and nothing done--Presently he spoke. + +"Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may speak to her in the +morning--before she goes out? My name is Van Landing--Stephen Van +Landing. I was a friend of hers once." + +"One now." The doctor's voice was dryly emphatic. "Lucky she +recognized you. Rather startled her, finding an old friend so +unexpectedly." Over his spectacles his kind, shrewd eyes looked down +on the man in the bed. "I'll see her. Miss Barbour is an exceptional +woman, but she's a woman, which means when she knows you are all right +she may not have time to see you. At present she's outside your door. +That's her knock. Guess she's got the milk." + +With breath held, Van Landing listened. Very low were the words +spoken, then the door was closed again. His heart was calling to her. +The long and empty years in which he had hoped against hope, and yet +could make no effort to find her, faded as mist fades before the light +that dawns and glows; and to say no word when she was near, to hold +hands still that longed to outstretch, to make no sign when he would +kneel for pardon at her feet--it was not to be endured. He would not +wait; the doctor must let her in! + +But it was not the doctor who was at his bed. It was a short, plump +woman of more than middle age, with twinkling gray eyes and firm, kind +hands and a cheery voice. + +"It's the milk, my son," she said, and the steaming glass was held to +his lips. "When you've had it you will sleep like a baby. It's warm, +are you--and the feet good and hot? Let me feel that water-bag? Bless +my soul if it's even lukewarm, and your feet still shivery! It's no +wonder, for they were ice itself when they brought you in." + +With dexterous fingers the hot-water bag was withdrawn from the foot +of the bed and Mother McNeil was out of the room. Back again, she +slipped it close to his feet, tucked in the covering, patted the +pillows, and, lowering the light, turned to leave the room. At the +door she stopped. + +"Is there anything you're needing, my son--anything I can do for you?" + +For a moment there was silence, broken only by the ticking of a tiny +clock on the mantel, then Van Landing spoke. + +"Yes." His voice was boyishly low. "Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may +see her to-morrow before she goes out? I _must_ see her." + +"Of course I will. And you can tell her how it happened that you were +right near our door when you fell, and you didn't even know she was in +town. Very few of her up-town friends know. There wasn't time for both +up-town and down-town, and there were things she wanted to find out. +She tells me you are an old friend, and I'm glad you've come across +each other again. It pleases some folks to believe in chance, but I +get more comfort thinking God has His own way. Good night, Mr. Van +Landing. Good dreams--good dreams!" + +The door was closed softly, and under the bedclothes Van Landing again +buried his face in the pillows, and his lips twitched. Chance--was it +chance or was it God? If only God would give him a chance! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +He was too tired, too utterly relaxed by warmth and medicine, to think +clearly. To-morrow he would find Carmencita, and she should get the +things the children wanted. They were very strange, the places and +people he had seen to-day. Of course he had known about such places +and people, read about them, heard about them, but seeing for one's +self was different. There were a lot of bummers among these people he +had passed; much of their misery was of their own making (he had made +much of his), but the wonder was they were no worse. + +Bold, bad faces, cold, pinched, hungry ones, eager, earnest, pathetic +and joyous, worn and weary, burdened and care-free, they again passed +before him, misty and ill-defined, as though the snow still veiled and +made them hazy, and none of them he knew. He wished they would stop +passing. He was very tired. They, too, were tired. Would they for +ever be passing before him, these people, these little children, he +had seen to-day? If they would go away he could think more clearly, +could think of Frances. She was here, in the house with him. At first +it had seemed strange, but it wasn't strange. It would be strange if +she were not here when he needed her, wanted her so. To-morrow would +not be too late. One could do a good deal on Christmas eve. Everybody +had been busy except himself. He would telephone to-morrow and tell +Herrick to close the office and give Miss Davis holiday until after +New-Year. + +But she had nowhere to go. He had heard her tell Herrick so, and +Herrick had nowhere to go, either. Both lived in boarding-houses, he +supposed. He had never thought to ask. Herrick was a faithful old +plodder--never would be anything else--but he couldn't get on without +him. He ought to raise his salary. Why didn't Herrick ask for more +money if he wanted it? And then he could get married. Why didn't he +get married, anyhow? Once or twice he had seen him talking to Miss +Davis about something that evidently wasn't business. She was a pretty +little thing and quick as lightning--just the opposite of old +Herrick. Wouldn't it be funny if they were in love; not, of course, +like-- + +They had nowhere to go Christmas. If Frances would let them they might +come here--no, not here, but at his home, their home. His home was +Frances's. It wouldn't be home for him if it weren't for her also. He +would ask her. And Carmencita and her blind father, they could come, +too. It would be horrible to have a Christmas dinner of sardines or +toasted cheese and crackers--or one in a boarding-house. Other people +might think it queer that he should have accidentally met Carmencita, +and that Carmencita should have mentioned the name of Miss Barbour, +and that he should have walked miles and miles--it must have been +thousands of miles--trying to find her, and, after all, did not find +her. She found him. But it wasn't queer. He had been looking for her +ever since--for three years he had been looking for her, and what one +looks for long enough one always finds. To-morrow--to-morrow--would +--be--Christmas eve. + +He opened his eyes slowly. The sun was blinding, and he blinked. +Mother McNeil and the doctor were standing at the foot of the bed, +and as he rubbed his eyes they laughed. + +"It's a merry Christmas you're to have, my son, after all, and it's +wanting to be up and after it you are, if I'm a judge of looks." And +Van Landing's hand, holding the coverlid close to his neck, was patted +understandingly by Mother McNeil. "Last night the doctor was a bit +worried about your head--you took your time in coming to--but I didn't +believe it was as bad as he feared, and it's well it wasn't, for it's +a grand day in which to be living, and you'll need your head. Is it +coffee or tea, now, that you like best for breakfast? And an egg and a +bit of toast, doctor, I think will taste well. I'll get them." And +without answer Mother McNeil was gone. + +The doctor sat down, felt his patient's pulse, took his temperature, +investigated the cut on the forehead, then got up. "You're all right." +His tone was one of gruff relief. "One inch nearer your temple, +however--You can get up if you wish. Good day." And he, too, was gone +before Van Landing could ask a question or say a word of thanks. + +It was bewildering, perplexing, embarrassing, and for a moment he +hesitated. Then he got up. He was absurdly shaky, but his head was +clear, and in his heart humility that was new and sweet. The day was +great, and the sun was shining as on yesterday one would not have +dreamed it could ever shine again. Going over to the door, he locked +it and hurriedly began to dress. His clothes had a rough, dry +appearance that made them hardly recognizable, and to get on his +shoes, which evidently had been dried near the furnace, was difficult. +In the small mirror over the bureau, as he tied his cravat, his face +reflected varying emotions: disgust at his soiled collar, relief that +he was up again, and gratitude that made a certain cynicism, of late +becoming too well defined, fade into quiet purpose. + +Unlocking the door, he went back to the window and looked across at +the long row of houses, as alike as shriveled peas in a dry pod, and +down on the snow-covered streets. Brilliantly the sun touched here and +there a bit of cornice below a dazzling gleaming roof, and threw rays +of rainbow light on window-pane and iron rail, outlined or hidden +under frozen foam; and the dirt and ugliness of the usual day were +lost in the white hush of mystery. + +Not for long would there be transforming effect of the storm, +however. Already the snow was being shoveled from door-steps and +sidewalks, and the laughter of the boys as they worked, the scraping +of their shovels, the rumble of wagon-wheels, which were making deep +brown ruts in the middle of the street, reached him with the muffled +sound of something far away, and, watching, he missed no detail of +what was going on below. + +"Goodness gracious! I've almost cried myself to death! And she found +you--found you!" + +Van Landing turned sharply. The door was open, though he had not heard +the knock, and with a spring Carmencita was beside him, holding his +hands and dancing as if demented with a joy no longer to be held in +restraint. + +"Oh, Mr. Van, I've almost died for fear I wouldn't find you in time! +And you're here at Mother McNeil's, and all yesterday I looked and +looked, and I couldn't remember your last name, and neither could +Father. And Miss Frances was away until night, and I never prayed so +hard and looked so hard in my life! Oh, Mr. Van, if you are a +stranger, I love you, and I'm so glad you're found!" + +She stopped for breath, and Van Landing, stooping, lifted Carmencita's +face and kissed it. + +"You are my dear friend, Carmencita." His voice, as his hands, was a +bit shaky. "I, too, am very glad--and grateful. Will you ask her to +come, ask her to let me see her? I cannot wait any longer." + +"You'll have to." Carmencita's eyes were big and blue in sudden +seriousness. "The Little Big Sisters have their tree to-night, and +she's got a million trillion things to do to-day, and she's gone out. +She's awful glad you're better, though. I asked her, and she said she +was. And I asked her why she didn't marry you right straight away, or +to-morrow if she didn't have time to-day, and--" + +"You did what, Carmencita?" + +"That. I asked her that. What's the use of wasting time? I told her +you'd like a wife for a Christmas gift very much, if she was the wife. +Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you really and truly rather have her than +anything else?" + +Van Landing turned and looked out of the window. The child's eyes and +earnest, eager face could not be met in the surge of hot blood which +swept over him, and his throat grew tight. All his theories and ideas +were becoming but confused upheaval in the manipulations of fate, or +what you will, that were bringing strange things to pass, and he no +longer could think clearly or feel calmly. He must get away before he +saw Frances. + +"Wouldn't you, Mr. Van?" + +In the voice beside him was shy entreaty and appeal, and, hands +clasped behind her, Carmencita waited. + +"I would." Van Landing made effort to smile, but in his eyes was no +smiling. Into them had come sudden purpose. "I shall ask her to marry +me to-morrow." + +Arms extended to the limit of their length, Carmencita whirled round +and round the room, then, breathless, stopped and, taking Van +Landing's hand, lifted it to her lips. + +"I kiss your hand, my lord, and bring you greetings from your faithful +subjects! I read that in a book. I'll be the subject. Isn't it grand +and magnificent and glorious?" She stopped. "She hasn't any new +clothes. A lady can't get married without new clothes, can she? And +she won't have time to get any on Christmas eve. Whether she'll do it +or not, you'll have to make her, Mr. Van, or you'll lose her again. +You've--got--to--just--make--her!" + +Carmencita's long slender forefinger made a jab in Van Landing's +direction, and her head nodded with each word uttered. But before he +could answer, Mother McNeil, with breakfast on a tray, was in the room +and Carmencita was out. + +Sitting down beside him, as he asked her to do, Van Landing told her +how it happened he was there, told her who he was. Miss Barbour was +under her care. She had once been his promised wife. He was trying to +find her when he fell, or fainted, or whatever it was, that he might +ask her again to marry him. Would she help him? + +In puzzled uncertainty Mother McNeil had listened, fine little folds +wrinkling her usually smooth forehead, and her keen eyes searching the +face before her; then she got up. + +"I might have known it would end like this. Well, why not?" Hands on +her hips, she smiled in the flushed face looking into hers. Van +Landing had risen, and his hands, holding the back of his chair, +twitched badly. "The way of love is the way of life. If she will marry +you--God bless you, I will say. It's women like Frances the work we're +in is needing. But it's women like her that men need, too. She's out, +but she asked me to wish you a very happy Christmas." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +"A very happy Christmas!" Van Landing smiled. "How can I have it +without--When can I see her, Mother McNeil?" + +At the open door Mother McNeil turned. "She has some shopping to do. +Yesterday two more families were turned over to us. Sometimes she gets +lunch at the Green Tea-pot on Samoset Street. She will be home at +four. The children come at eight, and the tree is to be dressed before +they get here." A noise made her look around. "Carmencita,--you are +out of breath, child! It's never you will learn to walk, I'm fearing!" + +Carmencita, who had run down the hall as one pursued, stopped, pulled +up her stocking, and made effort to fasten it to its supporter. +"Christmas in my legs," she said. "Can't expect feet to walk on +Christmas eve. I've got to tell him something, Mother McNeil. Will +you excuse me, please, if I tell him by himself?" + +Coming inside the room, Carmencita pulled Van Landing close to her and +closed the door, and for half a minute paused for breath. + +"It was Her. It was Miss Barbour at the telephone, and she says I must +meet her at the Green Tea-pot at two o'clock and have lunch with her +and tell her about the Barlow babies and old Miss Parker and some +others who don't go to Charities for their Christmas--and she says I +can help buy the things. Glory! I'm glad I'm living!" She stopped. "I +didn't tell her a word about you, but--Have you got a watch?" + +Van Landing looked at his watch, then put it back. "I have a watch, +but no hat. I lost my hat last night chasing Noodles. It's nine +o'clock. I'm going to the Green Tea-pot at two to take lunch also. +Want to go with me?" + +"I'm not going with you. You are going with me." Carmencita made +effort to look tall. "That's what I came to tell you. And you can ask +her there. I won't listen. I won't even look, and--" + +Van Landing took up his overcoat, hesitated, and then put it on. "I've +never had a sure-enough Christmas, Carmencita. Why can't I get those +things for the kiddies you spoke of, and save Miss Barbour the +trouble? She has so much to do, it isn't fair to put more on her. +Then, too--" + +"You can have her by yourself after we eat, can't you? Where can you +go?" + +"I haven't thought yet. Where do you suppose? She ought to rest." + +"Rest!" Carmencita's voice was shrilly scornful. "Rest--on Christmas +eve. Besides, there isn't a spot to do it in. Every one has bundles in +it." Hands clasped, her forehead puckered in fine folds, then she +looked up. "Is--is it a nice house you live in? It's all right, isn't +it?" + +"It is considered so. Why?" + +"Because what's the use of waiting until to-morrow to get married? If +she'll have you you all could stop in that little church near the +Green Tea-pot and the man could marry you, and then she could go on up +to your house and rest while you finished your Christmas things, and +then you could go for her and bring her down here to help fix the +Christmas tree, and to-morrow you could have Christmas at home. +Wouldn't it be grand?" Carmencita was on tiptoe, and again her arms +were flung in the air. Poised as if for flight, her eyes were on the +ceiling. Her voice changed. "The roof of this house leaks. It ought to +be fixed." + +Van Landing opened the door. "Your plan is an excellent one, +Carmencita. I like it immensely, but there's a chance that Miss +Barbour may not agree. Women have ways of their own in matters of +marriage. I do not even know that she will marry me at all." + +"Then she's got mighty little sense, which isn't so, for she's got a +lot. She knows what she wants, all right, and if she likes you she +likes you, and if she don't, she don't, and she don't make out she +does. Did--did you fuss?" + +"We didn't fuss." Van Landing smiled slightly. "We didn't agree about +certain things." + +"Good gracious! You don't want to marry an agree-er, do you? Mrs. +Barlow's one. Everything her husband thinks, she thinks, too, and +sometimes he can't stand her another minute. Where are you going now?" + +"I'm going to telephone for a taxi-cab. Then I'm going home to change +my clothes and get a hat, and then I'm going to my office to look +after some matters there; then I'm going with you to do some +shopping, and then I'm going to the Green Tea-pot to meet Miss +Barbour. If you could go with me now it would save time. Can you go?" + +"If I can tell Father first. Wait for me, will you?" + +Around the corner Carmencita flew, and was back as the taxi-cab +stopped at Mother McNeil's door. Getting in, she sat upright and shut +her eyes. Van Landing was saying good-by and expressing proper +appreciation and mentally making notes of other forms of expression to +be made later; and as she waited her breath came in long, delicious +gasps through her half-parted lips. Presently she stooped over and +pinched her legs. + +"My legs," she said, "same ones. And my cheeks and my hair"--the +latter was pulled with vigor--"and my feet and my hands--all me, and +in a taxi-cab going Christmas shopping and maybe to a marriage, and I +didn't know he was living last week! Father says I mustn't speak to +people I don't know, but how can you know them if you don't speak? I +was born lucky, and I'm so glad I'm living that if I was a rooster I'd +crow. Oh, Mr. Van, are you ready?" + +The next few hours to Carmencita were the coming true of dreams that +had long been denied, and from one thrill to another she passed in a +delicious ecstasy which made pinching of some part of her body +continually necessary. While Van Landing dressed she waited in his +library, wandering in wide-eyed awe and on tiptoe from one part of the +room to the other, touching here and there with the tips of her +fingers a book or picture or piece of furniture, and presently in +front of a footstool she knelt down and closed her eyes. + +Quickly, however, she opened them and, with head on the side, looked +around and listened. This wasn't a time to be seen. The silence +assuring, she again shut her eyes very tight and the palms of her +hands, uplifted, were pressed together. + +"Please, dear God, I just want to thank you," she began. "It's awful +sudden and unexpected having a day like this, and I don't guess +to-morrow will be much, not a turkey Christmas or anything like that, +but to-day is grand. I'd say more, but some one is coming. Amen." And +with a scramble she was on her feet, the stool behind her, as Van +Landing came in the room. + +The ride to the office through crowded streets was breathlessly +thrilling, and during it Carmencita did not speak. At the window of +the taxi she pressed her face so closely that the glass had +continually to be wiped lest the cloud made by her breath prevent her +seeing clearly; and, watching her, Van Landing smiled. What an odd, +elfish, wistful little face it was--keen, alert, intelligent, it +reflected every emotion that filled her, and her emotions were many. +In her long, ill-fitting coat and straw hat, in the worn shoes and +darned gloves, she was a study that puzzled and perplexed, and at +thought of her future he frowned. What became of them--these children +with little chance? Was it to try and learn and help that Frances was +living in their midst? + +In his office Herrick and Miss Davis were waiting. Work had been +pretty well cleared up, and there was little to be done, and as Van +Landing saw them the memory of his half-waking, half-dreaming thought +concerning them came to him, and furtively he looked from one to the +other. + +In a chair near the window, hands in her lap and feet on the rounds, +Carmencita waited, her eyes missing no detail of the scene about her, +and at Miss Davis, who came over to talk to her, she looked with +frank admiration. For a moment there was hesitating uncertainty in Van +Landing's face; then he turned to Herrick. + +"Come into the next room, will you, Herrick? I want to speak to you a +minute." + +What he was going to say he did not know. Herrick was such a steady +old chap, from him radiated such uncomplaining patience, about him was +such aloofness concerning his private affairs, that to speak to him on +personal matters was difficult. He handed him cigars and lighted one +himself. + +"I'm going to close the office, Herrick, until after New-Year," he +began. "I thought perhaps you might like to go away." + +"I would." Herrick, whose cigar was unlighted, smiled slightly. "But I +don't think I'll go." + +"Why not?" + +Herrick hesitated, and his face flushed. He was nearing forty, and his +hair was already slightly gray. "There are several reasons," he said, +quietly. "Until I am able to be married I do not care to go away. She +would be alone, and Christmas alone--" + +"Is--is it Miss Davis, Herrick?" Van Landing's voice was strangely +shy; then he held out his hand. "You're a lucky man, Herrick. I +congratulate you. Why didn't you tell me before; and if you want to +get married, why not? What's the use of waiting? The trip's on me. +Christmas alone--I forgot to say I've intended for some time to raise +your salary. You deserve it, and it was thoughtlessness that made me +put it off." He sat down at his desk and took his check-book out of a +spring-locked drawer and wrote hastily upon it. "That may help to +start things, Herrick, and if there's any other way--" + +In Herrick's astonished face the blood pumped deep and red, and as he +took the check Van Landing put in his hands his fingers twitched +nervously. It was beyond belief that Van Landing should have +guessed--and the check! It would mean the furnishing of the little +flat they had looked at yesterday and hoped would stay unrented for a +few months longer; meant a trip, and a little put aside to add to +their slow savings. Now that his sister was married and his brother +out of school, he could save more, but with this--He tried to speak, +then turned away and walked over to the window. + +"Call her in, Herrick, and let's have it settled. Why not get the +license to-day and be married to-morrow? Oh, Miss Davis!" He opened +the door and beckoned to his stenographer, who was showing Carmencita +her typewriter. "Come in, will you? Never mind. We'll come in there." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Miss Davis, who had risen, stood with one hand on her desk; the other +went to her lips. Something was the matter. What was it? + +"I hope you won't mind Carmencita knowing." Van Landing drew the child +to him. "She is an admirable arranger and will like to help, I'm sure. +Miss Davis and Mr. Herrick are going to be married to-morrow, +Carmencita, and spend their holiday--wherever they choose. Why, Miss +Davis--why, you've never done like this before!" + +Miss Davis was again in her chair, and, with arms on her desk and face +buried in them, her shoulders were making little twitchy movements. +She was trying desperately hard to keep back something that mustn't be +heard, and in a flash Carmencita was on her knees beside her. + +"Oh, Miss Davis, I don't know you much, but I'm so glad, and of course +it's awful exciting to get married without knowing you're going to do +it; but you mustn't cry, Miss Davis--you mustn't, really!" + +"I'm not crying." Head up, the pretty brown eyes, wet and shining, +looked first at Herrick and then at Van Landing, and a handkerchief +wiped two quivering lips. "I'm not crying, only--only it's so sudden, +and to-morrow is Christmas, and a boarding-house Christmas--" Again +the flushed face was buried in her arms and tears came hot and +fast--happy, blinding tears. + +Moving chairs around that were not in the way, going to the window and +back again, locking up what did not require locking, putting on his +hat and taking it off without knowing what he was doing, Van Landing, +nevertheless, managed in an incredibly short time to accomplish a good +many things and to make practical arrangements. Herrick and Miss Davis +were to come to his apartment at one o'clock to-morrow and bring the +minister. They would be married at once and have dinner immediately +after with him--and with a friend or two, perhaps. Carmencita and her +father would also be there, and they could leave for a trip as soon as +they wished. They must hurry; there was no time to lose--not a +minute. + +With a few words to the office-boy, the elevator-boy, the janitor, and +additional remembrances left with the latter for the charwoman, the +watchman, and several others not around, they were out in the street +and Carmencita again helped in the cab. + +For a moment there was dazed silence, then she turned to Van Landing. +"Would you mind sticking this in me?" she asked, and handed him a bent +pin. "Is--is it really sure-enough what we've been doing, or am I +making up. Stick hard, please--real hard." + +Van Landing laughed. "No need for the pin." He threw it away. "You're +awake, all right. I've been asleep a long time, and you--have waked +me, Carmencita." + +For two delicious hours the child led and Van Landing followed. In and +out of stores they went with quickness and decision, and soon on the +seat and on the floor of the cab boxes and bundles of many shapes and +sizes were piled, and then Carmencita said there should be nothing +else. + +"It's awful wickedness, Mr. Van, to spend so much." Her head nodded +vigorously. "The children will go crazy, and so will their mothers, +and they'll pop open if they eat some of all the things you've bought +for them, and we mustn't get another one. It's been grand, but--You're +not drunk, are you, Mr. Van, and don't know what you're doing?" + +Her voice trailed off anxiously, and in her eyes came sudden, sober +fear. + +Again Van Landing laughed. "I think perhaps I am drunk, but not in the +way you mean, Carmencita. It's a matter of spirits, however. Something +has gone to my head, or perhaps it's my heart. But I know very well +what I'm doing. There's one thing more. I forgot to tell you. I have a +little friend who has done a good deal for me. I want to get her a +present or two--some clothes and things that girls like. Your size, I +think, would fit her. I'd like--" + +"Is she rich or poor?" + +Van Landing hesitated. "She is rich. She has a wonderful imagination +and can see all sorts of things that others don't see, and her friends +are--" + +"Kings and queens, and fairies and imps, and ghosts and devils. I +know. I've had friends like that. Does she like pink or blue?" + +"I think she likes--blue." Again Van Landing hesitated. Silks and +satins might be Carmencita's choice. Silks and satins would not do. "I +don't mean she has money, and I believe she'd rather have practical +things." + +"No, she wouldn't! Girls hate practical things." The long, loose, +shabby coat was touched lightly. "This is practical. Couldn't she have +one pair of shiny slippers, just one, with buckles on them? Maybe +she's as Cinderellary as I am. I'd rather stick my foot out with a +diamond-buckle slipper on it than eat. I do when my princess friends +call, and they always say: 'Oh, Carmencita, what a charming foot you +have!' And that's it. _That_!" And Carmencita's foot with it's coarse +and half-worn shoe was held out at full length. "But we've got to +hurry, or we won't be at the Green Tea-pot by two o'clock. Come on." + +With amazing discrimination Carmencita made her purchases, and only +once or twice did she overstep the limitations of practicality and +insist upon a present that could be of little use to its recipient. +For the giving of joy the selection of a pair of shining slippers, a +blue satin sash, and a string of amber beads were eminently suitable, +however, and, watching, Van Landing saw her eyes gleam over the +precious possessions she was supposedly buying for some one else, a +child of her own age, and he made no objection to the selections made. + +"Even if she don't wear them she will have them." And Carmencita drew +a long, deep sigh of satisfaction. "It's so nice to know you have got +something you can peep at every now and then. It's like eating when +you're hungry. Oh, I do hope she'll like them! Is it two, Mr. Van?" + +It was ten minutes to two, and, putting Carmencita into the +bundle-packed cab, Van Landing ordered the latter to the Green +Tea-pot, then, getting in, leaned back, took off his hat, and wiped +his forehead. Tension seemed suddenly to relax and his heart for a +moment beat thickly; then with a jerk he sat upright. Carmencita was +again absorbed in watching the crowds upon the streets, and, when the +cab stopped, jumped as if awakened from a dream. + +"Are we here already? Oh, my goodness! There she is!" + +Miss Barbour was going in the doorway, and as Van Landing saw the +straight, slender figure, caught the turn of the head, held in the way +that was hers alone, the years that were gone slipped out of memory +and she was his again. His--With a swift movement he was out of the +cab and on the street and about to follow her when Carmencita touched +him on the arm. + +"Let me go first. She doesn't know you're coming. We'll get a table +near the door." + +The crowd separated them, but through it Carmencita wriggled her way +quickly and disappeared. Waiting, Van Landing saw her rush up to Miss +Barbour, then slip in a chair at a table whose occupants were leaving, +and motion Frances to do the same. As the tired little waitress, after +taking off the soiled cloth and putting on a fresh one, went away for +necessary equipment Van Landing opened the door and walked in and to +the table and held out his hand. + +"You would not let me thank you this morning. May I thank you now +for--" + +[Illustration: "YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I +THANK YOU NOW FOR--"] + +"Finding him?" Carmencita leaned halfway over the table, and her big +blue eyes looked anxiously at first one and then the other. "He was +looking for you, Miss Frances; he'd been looking all day and all night +because he'd just heard you were somewhere down here, and he's come to +have lunch with us, and--Oh, it's Christmas, Miss Frances, and please +tell him--say something, do something! He's been waiting three +years, and he can't wait another minute. Gracious! that smells good!" + +The savory dish that passed caused a turn in Carmencita's head, and +Frances Barbour, looking into the eyes that were looking into hers, +held out her hand. At sight of Van Landing her face had colored +richly, then the color had left it, leaving it white, and in her eyes +was that he had never seen before. + +"There is nothing for which to thank me." Her voice with its freshness +and sweetness stirred as of old, but it was low. She smiled slightly. +"I am very glad you are all right this morning. I did not know you +knew our part of the town." Her hand was laid on Carmencita's. + +"I didn't until I met your little friend. I had never been in it +before. I know it now very well." + +"And he was so fighting mad because he couldn't see you when I sent +the note that he went out, not knowing where he was or how to get +back, and when his senses came on again and he tried to find out he +couldn't find, and he walked 'most all night and was lost like people +in a desert who go round and round. And the next day he walked all +day long and 'most froze, and he'd passed Mother McNeil's house a +dozen times and didn't know it; and he was chasing Noodles and just +leaning against that railing when the cop came and you came. Oh, Miss +Frances, it's Christmas! Won't you please make up and--When are we +going to eat?" + +Miss Barbour's hand closed over Carmencita's twisting ones, and into +her face again sprang color; then she laughed. "We are very hungry, +Mr. Van Landing. Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?" + +An hour later Carmencita leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap +and eyes closed. Presently one hand went out. "Don't ask me anything +for a minute, will you? I've got to think about something. When you're +ready to go let me know." + +Through the meal Carmencita's flow of words and flow of spirits had +saved the silences that fell, in spite of effort, between Van Landing +and Miss Barbour, and under the quiet poise so characteristic of her +he had seen her breath come unsteadily. Could he make her care for him +again? With eyes no longer guarded he looked at her, leaned forward. + +"From here," he said, "where are you going?" + +"Home. I mean to Mother McNeil's. Carmencita says you and she have +done my shopping." She smiled slightly and lifted a glass of water to +her lips. "The tree is to be dressed this afternoon, and to-night the +children come." + +"And I--when can I come?" + +"You?" She glanced at Carmencita, who was now sitting with her chin on +the back of her chair, arms clasping the latter, watching the strange +and fascinating scene of people ordering what they wanted to eat and +eating as much of it as they wanted. "I don't know. I am very busy. +After Christmas, perhaps." + +"You mean for me there is to be no Christmas? Am I to be for ever kept +outside, Frances?" + +"Outside?" She looked up and away. "I have no home. We are +both--outside. To have no home at Christmas is--" Quickly she got up. +"We must go. It is getting late, and there is much to do." + +For one swift moment she let his eyes hold hers, and in his burned all +the hunger of the years of loss; then, taking up her muff, she went +toward the door. On the street she hesitated, then held out her hand. +"Good-by, Mr. Van Landing. I hope you will have a happy Christmas." + +"Do you?" Van Landing opened the cab door. "Get in, please. I will +come in another cab." Stooping, he pushed aside some boxes and bundles +and made room for Carmencita. "I'll be around at four to help dress +the tree. Wait until I come." He nodded to the cabman; then, lifting +his hat, he closed the door with a click and, turning, walked away. + +"Carmencita! oh, Carmencita!" Into the child's eyes the beautiful ones +of her friend looked with sudden appeal, and the usually steady hands +held those of Carmencita with frightened force. "What have you done? +What have you done?" + +"Done?" Carmencita's fingers twisted into those of her beloved, and +her laugh was joyous. "Done! Not much yet. I've just begun. Did--did +you know you were to have a grand Christmas present, Miss Frances? You +are. It's--it's alive!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +The time intervening before his return to help with the tree was spent +by Van Landing in a certain establishment where jewels were kept and +in telephoning Peterkin; and the orders to Peterkin were many. At four +o'clock he was back at Mother McNeil's. + +In the double parlor of the old-fashioned house, once the home of +wealth and power, the tree was already in place, and around it, in +crowded confusion, were boxes and barrels, and bundles and toys, and +clothes and shoes, and articles of unknown name and purpose, and for a +moment he hesitated. Hands in his pockets, he looked first at Mother +McNeil and then at a little lame boy on the floor beside an open +trunk, out of which he was taking gaily-colored ornaments and +untangling yards of tinsel; and then he looked at Frances, who, with a +big apron over her black dress, with its soft white collar open at the +throat, was holding a pile of empty stockings in her hands. + +"You are just in time, my son." Mother McNeil beamed warmly at the +uninvited visitor. "When a man can be of service, it's let him serve, +I say, and if you will get that step-ladder over there and fix this +angel on the top of the tree it will save time. Jenkins has gone for +more tinsel and more bread. We didn't intend at first to have +sandwiches and chocolate--just candy and nuts and things like +that--but it's so cold and snowy Frances thought something good and +hot would taste well. You can slice the bread, Mr. Van Landing. Four +sandwiches apiece for the boys and three for the girls are what we +allow." She looked around. "Hand him that angel, Frances, and show him +where to put it. I've got to see about the cakes." + +Never having fastened an angel to the top of a tree, for a half-moment +Van Landing was uncertain how to go about it, fearing exposure of +ignorance and awkwardness; then with a quick movement he was up the +ladder and looking down at the girl who was handing him a huge paper +doll dressed in the garments supposedly worn by the dwellers of +mansions in the sky, and as he took it he laughed. + +"This is a very worldly-looking angel. She apparently enjoys the +blowing of her trumpet. Stand off, will you, and see if that's right?" +Van Landing fastened the doll firmly to the top of the tree. "Does she +show well down there?" + +It was perfectly natural that he should be here and helping. True, he +had never heard of Mother McNeil and her home until two nights before, +never had dressed a Christmas tree before, or before gone where he was +not asked, but things of that sort no longer mattered. What mattered +was that he had found Frances, that it was the Christmas season, and +he was at last learning the secret of its hold on human hearts and +sympathies. There was no time to talk, but as he looked he watched, +with eyes that missed no movement that she made, the fine, fair face +that to him was like no other on earth, and, watching, he wondered if +she, too, wondered at the naturalness of it all. + +The years that had passed since he had seen her had left their +imprint. She had known great sorrow, also she had traveled much, and, +though about her were the grace and courage of old, there was +something else, something of nameless and compelling appeal, and he +knew that she, too, knew the loneliness of life. + +Quickly they worked, and greater and greater grew the confusion of +the continually appearing boxes and bundles, and, knee-deep, Mother +McNeil surveyed them, hands on her hips, and once or twice she brushed +her eyes. + +"It's always the way, my son. If you trust people they will not fail +you. When we learn how to understand there will be less hate and more +help in the world. Jenkins, bring that barrel of apples and box of +oranges over here and get a knife for Mr. Van Landing to cut the bread +for the sandwiches. It's time to make them. Matilda, call Abraham in. +He can slice the ham and cheese. There must be plenty. Boys are +hollow. Frances, have you seen my scissors?" + +Out of what seemed hopeless confusion and chaotic jumbling, out of +excited coming and going, and unanswered questions, and slamming of +doors, and hurried searchings, order at last evolved, and, feeling +very much as if he'd been in a football match, Van Landing surveyed +the rooms with a sense of personal pride in their completeness. Around +the tree, placed between the two front windows, were piled countless +packages, each marked, and from the mantelpiece hung a row of bulging +stockings, reinforced by huge mounds of the same on the floor, +guarded already by old Fetch-It. Holly and cedar gave color and +fragrance, and at the uncurtained windows wreaths, hung by crimson +ribbons, sent a welcome to the waiting crowd outside. + +If he were not here he would be alone, with nothing to do. And +Christmas eve alone! He drew in his breath and looked at Frances. In +her face was warm, rich color, and her eyes were gay and bright, but +she was tired. She would deny it if asked. He did not have to ask. If +only he could take her away and let her rest! + +She was going up-stairs to change her dress. Half-way up the steps he +called her, and, leaning against the rail of the banisters, he looked +up at her. + +"When you come down I must see you, Frances--and alone. I shall wait +here for you." + +"I cannot see you alone. There will be no time." + +"Then we must make time. I tell you I must see you." Something in her +eyes made him hesitate. He must try another way. "Listen, Frances. I +want you to do me a favor. There's a young girl in my office, my +stenographer, who is to be married to-morrow to my head clerk. She is +from a little town very far from here and has no relatives, no +intimate friends near enough to go to. She lives in a boarding-house, +and she can't afford to go home to be married. I have asked Herrick to +bring her to my apartment to-morrow and marry her there. I would like +her to have--Carmencita and her father are coming, and I want you to +come, too. It would make things nicer for her. Will you come--you and +Mother McNeil?" + +Over the banisters the beautiful eyes looked down into Van Landing's. +Out of them had gone guarding. In them was that which sent the blood +in hot surge through his heart. "I would love to come, but I am going +out of town to-morrow--going--" + +"Home?" In Van Landing's voice was unconcealed dismay. The glow of +Christmas, new and warm and sweet, died sharply, leaving him cold and +full of fear. "Are you going home?" + +She shook her head. "I have no home. That is why I am going away +to-morrow. Mother McNeil will have her family here, and I'd be--I'd be +an outsider. It's everybody's home day--and when you haven't a home--" + +She turned and went a few steps farther on to where the stairs +curved, then suddenly she sat down and crumpled up and turned her face +to the wall. With leaps that took the steps two at a time Van Landing +was beside her. + +"Frances!" he said, "Frances!" and in his arms he held her close. +"You've found out, too! Thank God, you've found out, too!" + +Below, a door opened and some one was in the hall. Quickly Frances was +on her feet. "You must not, must not, Stephen--not here!" + +"Goodness gracious! they've done made up." + +At the foot of the steps Carmencita, as if paralyzed with delight, +stood for a moment, then, shutting tight her eyes, ran back whence she +came; at the door she stopped. + +"Carmencita! Carmencita!" It was Van Landing's voice. She turned her +head. "Come here, Carmencita. I have something to tell you." + +Eyes awed and shining, Carmencita came slowly up the steps. Reaching +them, with a spring she threw her arms around her dear friend's neck +and kissed her lips again and again and again, then held out her hands +to the man beside her. "Is--is it to be to-morrow, Mr. Van?" + +"It is to be to-morrow, Carmencita." + +For a half-moment there was quivering silence; then Van Landing spoke +again. "There are some things I must attend to to-night. Early +to-morrow I will come for you, Frances, and in Dr. Pierson's church we +will be married. Herrick and Miss Davis are coming at one o'clock, and +my--wife must be there to receive them. And you, too, Carmencita--you +and your father. We are going to have--" Van Landing's voice was +unsteady. "We are going to have Christmas at home, Frances. Christmas +at home!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Lifting herself on her elbow, Carmencita listened. There was no sound +save the ticking of the little clock on the mantel. For a moment she +waited, then with a swift movement of her hand threw back the covering +on the cot, slipped from it, and stood, barefooted, in her nightgown, +in the middle of the floor. Head on the side, one hand to her mouth, +the other outstretched as if for silence from some one unseen, she +raised herself on tiptoe and softly, lightly, crossed the room to the +door opening into the smaller room wherein her father slept. Hand on +the knob, she listened, and, the soft breathing assuring her he was +asleep, she closed the door, gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, and +hurried back to the cot, close to which she sat down, put on her +stockings, and tied on her feet a pair of worn woolen slippers, once +the property of her prudent and practical friend, Miss Cattie Burns. +Slipping on her big coat over her gown, she tiptoed to the mantel, +lighted the candle upon it, and looked at the clock. + +"Half past twelve," she said, "and Father's stocking not filled yet!" + +As she got down from the chair on which she had stood to see the hour +her foot caught in the ripped hem of her coat. She tripped, and would +have fallen had she not steadied herself against the table close to +the stove, and as she did so she laughed under her breath. + +"Really this kimono is much too long." She looked down on the loosened +hem. "And I oughtn't to wear my best accordion-pleated pale-blue crepe +de Chine and shadow lace when I am so busy. But dark-gray things are +so unbecoming, and, besides, I may have a good deal of company +to-night. The King of Love and the Queen of Hearts may drop in, and I +wouldn't have time to change. Miss Lucrecia Beck says I'm going to +write a book when I'm big, I'm so fond of making up and of +love-things. She don't know I've written one already. If he hadn't +happened to be standing on that corner looking so--so--I don't know +what, exactly, but so something I couldn't help running down and +asking him to come up--I never would have had the day I've had to-day +and am going to have to-morrow." + +Stooping, she pinned the hem of her coat carefully, then, stretching +out her arms, stood on her tiptoes and spun noiselessly round and +round. "Can't help it!" she said, as if to some one who objected. "I'm +so glad I'm living, so glad I spoke to him, and know him, that I'm +bound to let it out. Father says I mustn't speak to strangers; but I'd +have to be dead not to talk, and I didn't think about his being a man. +He looked so lonely." + +With quick movements a big gingham apron was tied over the bulky coat, +and, putting the candle on the table in the middle of the room, +Carmencita began to move swiftly from cot to cupboard, from chairs to +book-shelves, and from behind and under each bundles and boxes of +varying sizes were brought forth and arrayed in rows on the little +table near the stove. As the pile grew bigger so did her eyes, and in +her cheeks, usually without color, two spots burned deep and red. +Presently she stood off and surveyed her work and, hands clasped +behind, began to count, her head nodding with each number. + +"Thirteen big ones and nineteen little ones," she said, "and I don't +know a thing that's in one of them. Gracious! this is a nice world to +live in! I wonder what makes people so good to me? Mrs. Robinsky +brought up those six biggest ones to-night." Lightly her finger was +laid on each. "She said they were left with her to be sent up +to-morrow morning, but there wouldn't be a thing to send if she +waited, as the children kept pinching and poking so to see what was in +them. I'd like to punch myself. Noodles gave me that." Her head nodded +at a queer-shaped package wrapped in brown paper and tied with green +cord. "He paid nineteen cents for it. He told me so. I didn't pay but +five for what I gave him. He won't brush his teeth or clean his +finger-nails, and I told him I wasn't going to give him a thing if he +didn't, but I haven't a bit of hold-out-ness at Christmas. I wonder +what's in that?" + +Cautiously her hand was laid on a box wrapped in white tissue-paper +and tied with red ribbons. "I'll hate to open it and see, it looks so +lovely and Christmasy, but if I don't see soon I'll die from wanting +to know. It rattled a little when I put it on the table. It's Miss +Frances's present, and I know it isn't practical. She's like I am. She +don't think Christmas is for plain and useful things. She thinks it's +for pleasure and pretty ones. I wonder--" Her hands were pressed to +her breast, and on tiptoes she leaned quiveringly toward the table. "I +wonder if it could be a new tambourine with silver bells on it! If it +is I'll die for joy, I'll be so glad! I broke mine to-night. I shook +it so hard when I was dancing after I got home from the tree +that--Good gracious! I've caught my foot again! These diamond buckles +on my satin slippers are always catching the chiffon ruffles on my +petticoats. I oughtn't to wear my best things when I'm busy, but I +can't stand ugly ones, even to work in. Mercy! it's one o'clock, and +the things for Father's stocking aren't out yet." + +Out of the bottom drawer of the old-fashioned chest at the end of the +room a box was taken and laid on the floor near the stove, into which +a small stick of wood was put noiselessly, and carefully Carmencita +sat down beside it. Taking off the top of the box, she lifted first a +large-size stocking and held it up. + +"I wish I was one hundred children's mother at Christmas and had a +hundred stockings to fill! I mean, if I had things to fill them with. +But as I'm not a mother, just a daughter, I'm thankful glad I've got +a father to fill a stocking for. He's the only child I've got. If he +could just see how beautiful and red this apple is, and how yellow +this orange, and what a darling little candy harp _this_ is, I'd be +thankfuler still. But he won't ever see. The doctor said so--said I +must be his eyes." + +One by one the articles were taken out of the box and laid on the +floor; and carefully, critically, each was examined. + +"This cravat is an awful color." Carmencita's voice made an effort to +be polite and failed. "Mr. Robinsky bought it for father himself and +asked me to put it in his stocking, but I hate to put. I'll have to do +it, of course, and father won't know the colors, but what on earth +made him get a green-and-red plaid? Now listen at me! I'm doing just +what Miss Lucrecia does to everything that's sent her. The only +pleasure she gets out of her presents is making fun of them and +snapping at the people who send them. She's an awful snapper. The +Damanarkist sent these cigars. They smell good. He don't believe in +Christmas, but he sent Father and me both a present. I hope he'll like +the picture-frame I made for his mother's picture. His mother's dead, +but he believed in her. She was the only thing he did believe in. A +man who don't believe in his mother--Oh, _my_ precious mother!" + +With a trembling movement the little locket was taken from the box and +opened and the picture in it kissed passionately; then, without +warning, the child crumpled up and hot tears fell fast over the +quivering face. "I do want you, my mother! Everybody wants a mother at +Christmas, and I haven't had one since I was seven. Father tries to +fill my stocking, but it isn't a mother-stocking, and I just ache and +ache to--to have one like you'd fix. I want--" The words came +tremblingly, and presently she sat up. + +"Carmencita Bell, you are a baby. Behave--your--self!" With the end of +the gingham apron the big blue eyes were wiped. "You can't do much in +this world, but you can keep from crying. Suppose Father was to know." +Her back straightened and her head went up. "Father isn't ever going +to know, and if I don't fill this stocking it won't be hanging on the +end of the mantelpiece when he wakes up. The locket must go in the +toe." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +In half an hour the stocking, big and bulging, was hung in its +accustomed place, the packages for her father put on a chair by +themselves, and those for her left on the table, and as she rearranged +the latter something about the largest one arrested her attention, +and, stopping, she gazed at it with eyes puzzled and uncertain. + +It looked--Cautiously her fingers were laid upon it. Undoubtedly it +looked like the box in which had been put the beautiful dark-blue coat +she had bought for the little friend of her friend. And that other box +was the size of the one the two dresses had been put in; and that was +a hat-box, and that a shoe-box, and the sash and beads and gloves and +ribbons, all the little things, had been put in a box that size. Every +drop of blood surged hotly, tremblingly, and with eyes staring and +lips half parted her breath came unsteadily. + +In the confusion of their coming she had not noticed when Mrs. +Robinsky had brought them up and put them under the cot, with the +injunction that they were not to be opened until the morning, and for +the first time their familiarity was dawning on her. Could it +be--could _she_ be the little friend he had said was rich? She wasn't +rich. He didn't mean money-rich, but she wasn't any kind of rich; and +she had been so piggy. + +Hot color swept over her face, and her hands twitched. She had told +him again and again she was getting too much, but he had insisted on +her buying more, and made her tell him what little girls liked, until +she would tell nothing more. And they had all been for her. For her, +Carmencita Bell, who had never heard of him three days before. + +In the shock of revelation, the amazement of discovery, the little +figure at the table stood rigid and upright, then it relaxed and with +a stifled sob Carmencita crossed the room and, by the side of her cot, +twisted herself into a little knot and buried her face in her arms and +her arms in the covering. + +"I didn't believe! I didn't believe!" + +Over and over the words came tremblingly. "I prayed and prayed, but I +didn't believe! He let it happen, and I didn't believe!" + +For some moments there were queer movements of twitching hands and +twisting feet by the side of the cot, but after a while a +tear-stained, awed, and shy-illumined face looked up from the arms in +which it had been hidden and ten slender fingers intertwined around +the knees of a hunched-up little body, which on the floor drew itself +closer to the fire. + +It was a wonderful world, this world in which she lived. Carmencita's +eyes were looking toward the window, through which she could see the +shining stars. Wonderful things happened in it, and quite beyond +explaining were these things, and there was no use trying to +understand. Two days ago she was just a little girl who lived in a +place she hated and was too young to go to work, and who had a blind +father and no rich friends or relations, and there was nothing nice +that could happen just so. + +"But things don't happen just so. They happen--don't anybody know how, +I guess." Carmencita nodded at the stars. "I've prayed a good many +times before and nothing happened, and I don't know why all this +beautifulness should have come to me, and Mrs. Beckwith, who is good +as gold, though a poor manager with babies, shouldn't ever have any +luck. I don't understand, but I'm awful thankful. I wish I could let +God know, and the Christ-child know, how thankful I am. Maybe the way +they'd like me to tell is by doing something nice for somebody else. I +know. I'll ask Miss Parker to supper Christmas night. She's an awful +poky person and needs new teeth, but she says she's so sick of mending +pants, she wishes some days she was dead. And I'll ask the +Damanarkist. He hasn't anywhere to go, and he hates rich people so +it's ruined his stomach. Hate is an awful ruiner." + +For some moments longer Carmencita sat in huddled silence, then +presently she spoke again. + +"I didn't intend to give Miss Cattie Burns anything. I've tried to +like Miss Cattie and I can't. But it was very good in her to send us a +quarter of a cord of wood for a Christmas present. She can't help +being practical. I'll take her that red geranium to-morrow. I raised +it from a slip, and I hate to see it go, but it's all I've got to +give. It will have to go. + +"And to-morrow. I mean to-day--this is Christmas day! Oh, a happy +Christmas, everybody!" Carmencita's arms swung out, then circled +swiftly back to her heart. "For everybody in all the world I'd make it +happy if I could! And I'm going to a wedding to-day--a wedding! I +don't wonder you're thrilly, Carmencita Bell!" + +For a half-moment breath came quiveringly from the parted lips, then +again at the window and the stars beyond the little head nodded. + +"But I'll never wonder at things happening any more. I'll just wonder +at there being so many nice people on this earth. All are not nice. +The Damanarkist says there is a lot of rot in them, a lot of meanness +and cheatingness, and nasty people who don't want other people to do +well or to get in their way; but there's bound to be more niceness +than nastiness, or the world couldn't go on. It couldn't without a lot +of love. It takes a lot of love to stand life. I read that in a book. +Maybe that's why we have Christmas--why the Christ-child came." + +Shyly the curly head was bent on the upraised knees, and the palms of +two little hands were uplifted. "O God, all I've got to give is love. +Help me never to forget, and put a lot in my heart so I'll always +have it ready. And I thank You and thank You for letting such grand +things happen. I didn't dream there'd really be a marriage when I +asked You please to let it be if you could manage it; but there's +going to be two, and I'm going to both. I've got a new dress to wear, +and slippers with buckles, and amber beads, and lots of other things. +And most of all I thank You for Mr. Van and Miss Frances finding each +other. And please don't let them ever lose each other again. They +might, even if they are married, if they don't take care. Please help +them to take care, for Christ's sake. Amen." + + * * * * * + +On her feet, Carmencita patted the stocking hanging from the mantel, +took off the big coat, kicked the large, loose slippers across the +room, blew out the candle, and stood for a moment poised on the tip of +her toes. + +"If I could"--the words came breathlessly--"if I could I'd dance like +the lady I was named for, but it might wake Father. I mustn't wake +Father. Good night, everybody--and a merry Christmas to all this nice, +big world!" + +With a spring that carried her across the room Carmencita was on her +cot and beneath its covering, which she drew up to her face. Under +her breath she laughed joyously, and her arms were hugged to her +heart. + +"To-morrow--I mean to-day--I am going to tell them. They don't +understand yet. They think it was just an accident." She shook her +head. "It wasn't an accident. After they're married I'm going to tell +them. Tell them how it happened." + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of How It Happened, by Kate Langley Bosher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOW IT HAPPENED *** + +***** This file should be named 14723.txt or 14723.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/7/2/14723/ + +Produced by Stephen Schulze and the Online Distributed Proofreaders Team + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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