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diff --git a/1716-h/1716-h.htm b/1716-h/1716-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ddee09a --- /dev/null +++ b/1716-h/1716-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11763 @@ +<?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" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Copy-Cat, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Copy-Cat and Other Stories, by +Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + +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: The Copy-Cat and Other Stories + +Author: Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + +Release Date: November 20, 2009 [EBook #1716] +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COPY-CAT AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE COPY-CAT <br /><br /> AND OTHER STORIES + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE COPY-CAT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE COCK OF THE WALK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> JOHNNY-IN-THE-WOODS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> DANIEL AND LITTLE DAN'L </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> BIG SISTER SOLLY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> LITTLE LUCY ROSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> NOBLESSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> CORONATION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE AMETHYST COMB </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE UMBRELLA MAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE BALKING OF CHRISTOPHER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> DEAR ANNIE </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE COPY-CAT + </h2> + <p> + THAT affair of Jim Simmons's cats never became known. Two little boys and + a little girl can keep a secret—that is, sometimes. The two little + boys had the advantage of the little girl because they could talk over the + affair together, and the little girl, Lily Jennings, had no intimate girl + friend to tempt her to confidence. She had only little Amelia Wheeler, + commonly called by the pupils of Madame's school “The Copy-Cat.” + </p> + <p> + Amelia was an odd little girl—that is, everybody called her odd. She + was that rather unusual creature, a child with a definite ideal; and that + ideal was Lily Jennings. However, nobody knew that. If Amelia's mother, + who was a woman of strong character, had suspected, she would have taken + strenuous measures to prevent such a peculiar state of affairs; the more + so because she herself did not in the least approve of Lily Jennings. Mrs. + Diantha Wheeler (Amelia's father had died when she was a baby) often + remarked to her own mother, Mrs. Stark, and to her mother-in-law, Mrs. + Samuel Wheeler, that she did not feel that Mrs. Jennings was bringing up + Lily exactly as she should. “That child thinks entirely too much of her + looks,” said Mrs. Diantha. “When she walks past here she switches those + ridiculous frilled frocks of hers as if she were entering a ballroom, and + she tosses her head and looks about to see if anybody is watching her. If + I were to see Amelia doing such things I should be very firm with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily Jennings is a very pretty child,” said Mother-in-law Wheeler, with + an under-meaning, and Mrs. Diantha flushed. Amelia did not in the least + resemble the Wheelers, who were a handsome set. She looked remarkably like + her mother, who was a plain woman, only little Amelia did not have a + square chin. Her chin was pretty and round, with a little dimple in it. In + fact, Amelia's chin was the prettiest feature she had. Her hair was + phenomenally straight. It would not even yield to hot curling-irons, which + her grandmother Wheeler had tried surreptitiously several times when there + was a little girls' party. “I never saw such hair as that poor child has + in all my life,” she told the other grandmother, Mrs. Stark. “Have the + Starks always had such very straight hair?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Stark stiffened her chin. Her own hair was very straight. “I don't + know,” said she, “that the Starks have had any straighter hair than other + people. If Amelia does not have anything worse to contend with than + straight hair I rather think she will get along in the world as well as + most people.” + </p> + <p> + “It's thin, too,” said Grandmother Wheeler, with a sigh, “and it hasn't a + mite of color. Oh, well, Amelia is a good child, and beauty isn't + everything.” Grandmother Wheeler said that as if beauty were a great deal, + and Grandmother Stark arose and shook out her black silk skirts. She had + money, and loved to dress in rich black silks and laces. + </p> + <p> + “It is very little, very little indeed,” said she, and she eyed + Grandmother Wheeler's lovely old face, like a wrinkled old rose as to + color, faultless as to feature, and swept about by the loveliest waves of + shining silver hair. + </p> + <p> + Then she went out of the room, and Grandmother Wheeler, left alone, + smiled. She knew the worth of beauty for those who possess it and those + who do not. She had never been quite reconciled to her son's marrying such + a plain girl as Diantha Stark, although she had money. She considered + beauty on the whole as a more valuable asset than mere gold. She regretted + always that poor little Amelia, her only grandchild, was so very + plain-looking. She always knew that Amelia was very plain, and yet + sometimes the child puzzled her. She seemed to see reflections of beauty, + if not beauty itself, in the little colorless face, in the figure, with + its too-large joints and utter absence of curves. She sometimes even + wondered privately if some subtle resemblance to the handsome Wheelers + might not be in the child and yet appear. But she was mistaken. What she + saw was pure mimicry of a beautiful ideal. + </p> + <p> + Little Amelia tried to stand like Lily Jennings; she tried to walk like + her; she tried to smile like her; she made endeavors, very often futile, + to dress like her. Mrs. Wheeler did not in the least approve of furbelows + for children. Poor little Amelia went clad in severe simplicity; durable + woolen frocks in winter, and washable, unfadable, and non-soil-showing + frocks in summer. She, although her mother had perhaps more money + wherewith to dress her than had any of the other mothers, was the + plainest-clad little girl in school. Amelia, moreover, never tore a frock, + and, as she did not grow rapidly, one lasted several seasons. Lily + Jennings was destructive, although dainty. Her pretty clothes were renewed + every year. Amelia was helpless before that problem. For a little girl + burning with aspirations to be and look like another little girl who was + beautiful and wore beautiful clothes, to be obliged to set forth for + Madame's on a lovely spring morning, when thin attire was in evidence, + dressed in dark-blue-andwhite-checked gingham, which she had worn for + three summers, and with sleeves which, even to childish eyes, were + anachronisms, was a trial. Then to see Lily flutter in a frock like a + perfectly new white flower was torture; not because of jealousy—Amelia + was not jealous; but she so admired the other little girl, and so loved + her, and so wanted to be like her. + </p> + <p> + As for Lily, she hardly ever noticed Amelia. She was not aware that she + herself was an object of adoration; for she was a little girl who searched + for admiration in the eyes of little boys rather than little girls, + although very innocently. She always glanced slyly at Johnny Trumbull when + she wore a pretty new frock, to see if he noticed. He never did, and she + was sharp enough to know it. She was also child enough not to care a bit, + but to take a queer pleasure in the sensation of scorn which she felt in + consequence. She would eye Johnny from head to foot, his boy's clothing + somewhat spotted, his bulging pockets, his always dusty shoes, and when he + twisted uneasily, not understanding why, she had a thrill of purely + feminine delight. It was on one such occasion that she first noticed + Amelia Wheeler particularly. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely warm morning in May, and Lily was a darling to behold—in + a big hat with a wreath of blue flowers, her hair tied with enormous blue + silk bows, her short skirts frilled with eyelet embroidery, her slender + silk legs, her little white sandals. Madame's maid had not yet struck the + Japanese gong, and all the pupils were out on the lawn, Amelia, in her + clean, ugly gingham and her serviceable brown sailor hat, hovering near + Lily, as usual, like a common, very plain butterfly near a particularly + resplendent blossom. Lily really noticed her. She spoke to her + confidentially; she recognized her fully as another of her own sex, and + presumably of similar opinions. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't boys ugly, anyway?” inquired Lily of Amelia, and a wonderful change + came over Amelia. Her sallow cheeks bloomed; her eyes showed blue + glitters; her little skinny figure became instinct with nervous life. She + smiled charmingly, with such eagerness that it smote with pathos and + bewitched. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, oh yes,” she agreed, in a voice like a quick flute obbligato. + “Boys are ugly.” + </p> + <p> + “Such clothes!” said Lily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, such clothes!” said Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “Always spotted,” said Lily. + </p> + <p> + “Always covered all over with spots,” said Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “And their pockets always full of horrid things,” said Lily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Amelia. + </p> + <p> + Amelia glanced openly at Johnny Trumbull; Lily with a sidewise effect. + </p> + <p> + Johnny had heard every word. Suddenly he arose to action and knocked down + Lee Westminster, and sat on him. + </p> + <p> + “Lemme up!” said Lee. + </p> + <p> + Johnny had no quarrel whatever with Lee. He grinned, but he sat still. + Lee, the sat-upon, was a sharp little boy. “Showing off before the gals!” + he said, in a thin whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Hush up!” returned Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Will you give me a writing-pad—I lost mine, and mother said I + couldn't have another for a week if I did—if I don't holler?” + inquired Lee. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Hush up!” + </p> + <p> + Lee lay still, and Johnny continued to sit upon his prostrate form. Both + were out of sight of Madame's windows, behind a clump of the cedars which + graced her lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Always fighting,” said Lily, with a fine crescendo of scorn. She lifted + her chin high, and also her nose. + </p> + <p> + “Always fighting,” said Amelia, and also lifted her chin and nose. Amelia + was a born mimic. She actually looked like Lily, and she spoke like her. + </p> + <p> + Then Lily did a wonderful thing. She doubled her soft little arm into an + inviting loop for Amelia's little claw of a hand. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, Amelia Wheeler,” said she. “We don't want to stay near + horrid, fighting boys. We will go by ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + And they went. Madame had a headache that morning, and the Japanese gong + did not ring for fifteen minutes longer. During that time Lily and Amelia + sat together on a little rustic bench under a twinkling poplar, and they + talked, and a sort of miniature sun-and-satellite relation was established + between them, although neither was aware of it. Lily, being on the whole a + very normal little girl, and not disposed to even a full estimate of + herself as compared with others of her own sex, did not dream of Amelia's + adoration, and Amelia, being rarely destitute of self-consciousness, did + not understand the whole scope of her own sentiments. It was quite + sufficient that she was seated close to this wonderful Lily, and agreeing + with her to the verge of immolation. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Lily, “girls are pretty, and boys are just as ugly as + they can be.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said Amelia, fervently. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Lily, thoughtfully, “it is queer how Johnny Trumbull always + comes out ahead in a fight, and he is not so very large, either.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Amelia, but she realized a pang of jealousy. “Girls could + fight, I suppose,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, and get their clothes all torn and messy,” said Lily. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't care,” said Amelia. Then she added, with a little toss, “I + almost know I could fight.” The thought even floated through her wicked + little mind that fighting might be a method of wearing out obnoxious and + durable clothes. + </p> + <p> + “You!” said Lily, and the scorn in her voice wilted Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I couldn't,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you couldn't, and if you could, what a sight you'd be. Of + course it wouldn't hurt your clothes as much as some, because your mother + dresses you in strong things, but you'd be sure to get black and blue, and + what would be the use, anyway? You couldn't be a boy, if you did fight.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I know I couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what is the use? We are a good deal prettier than boys, and cleaner, + and have nicer manners, and we must be satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “You are prettier,” said Amelia, with a look of worshipful admiration at + Lily's sweet little face. + </p> + <p> + “You are prettier,” said Lily. Then she added, equivocally, “Even the very + homeliest girl is prettier than a boy.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Amelia, it was a good deal for her to be called prettier than a very + dusty boy in a fight. She fairly dimpled with delight, and again she + smiled charmingly. Lily eyed her critically. + </p> + <p> + “You aren't so very homely, after all, Amelia,” she said. “You needn't + think you are.” + </p> + <p> + Amelia smiled again. + </p> + <p> + “When you look like you do now you are real pretty,” said Lily, not + knowing or even suspecting the truth, that she was regarding in the face + of this little ardent soul her own, as in a mirror. + </p> + <p> + However, it was after that episode that Amelia Wheeler was called + “Copy-Cat.” The two little girls entered Madame's select school arm in + arm, when the musical gong sounded, and behind them came Lee Westminster + and Johnny Trumbull, surreptitiously dusting their garments, and ever + after the fact of Amelia's adoration and imitation of Lily Jennings was + evident to all. Even Madame became aware of it, and held conferences with + two of the under teachers. + </p> + <p> + “It is not at all healthy for one child to model herself so entirely upon + the pattern of another,” said Miss Parmalee. + </p> + <p> + “Most certainly it is not,” agreed Miss Acton, the music-teacher. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that poor little Amelia Wheeler had the rudiments of a fairly good + contralto. I had begun to wonder if the poor child might not be able at + least to sing a little, and so make up for—other things; and now she + tries to sing high like Lily Jennings, and I simply cannot prevent it. She + has heard Lily play, too, and has lost her own touch, and now it is + neither one thing nor the other.” + </p> + <p> + “I might speak to her mother,” said Madame, thoughtfully. Madame was + American born, but she married a French gentleman, long since deceased, + and his name sounded well on her circulars. She and her two under teachers + were drinking tea in her library. + </p> + <p> + Miss Parmalee, who was a true lover of her pupils, gasped at Madame's + proposition. “Whatever you do, please do not tell that poor child's + mother,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think it would be quite wise, if I may venture to express an + opinion,” said Miss Acton, who was a timid soul, and always inclined to + shy at her own ideas. + </p> + <p> + “But why?” asked Madame. + </p> + <p> + “Her mother,” said Miss Parmalee, “is a quite remarkable woman, with great + strength of character, but she would utterly fail to grasp the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “I must confess,” said Madame, sipping her tea, “that I fail to understand + it. Why any child not an absolute idiot should so lose her own identity in + another's absolutely bewilders me. I never heard of such a case.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Parmalee, who had a sense of humor, laughed a little. “It is + bewildering,” she admitted. “And now the other children see how it is, and + call her 'Copy-Cat' to her face, but she does not mind. I doubt if she + understands, and neither does Lily, for that matter. Lily Jennings is full + of mischief, but she moves in straight lines; she is not conceited or + self-conscious, and she really likes Amelia, without knowing why.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear Lily will lead Amelia into mischief,” said Madame, “and Amelia has + always been such a good child.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily will never MEAN to lead Amelia into mischief,” said loyal Miss + Parmalee. + </p> + <p> + “But she will,” said Madame. + </p> + <p> + “If Lily goes, I cannot answer for Amelia's not following,” admitted Miss + Parmalee. + </p> + <p> + “I regret it all very much indeed,” sighed Madame, “but it does seem to me + still that Amelia's mother—” + </p> + <p> + “Amelia's mother would not even believe it, in the first place,” said Miss + Parmalee. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is something in that,” admitted Madame. “I myself could not + even imagine such a situation. I would not know of it now, if you and Miss + Acton had not told me.” + </p> + <p> + “There is not the slightest use in telling Amelia not to imitate Lily, + because she does not know that she is imitating her,” said Miss Parmalee. + “If she were to be punished for it, she could never comprehend the + reason.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” said Miss Acton. “I realize that when the poor child + squeaks instead of singing. All I could think of this morning was a little + mouse caught in a trap which she could not see. She does actually squeak!—and + some of her low notes, although, of course, she is only a child, and has + never attempted much, promised to be very good.” + </p> + <p> + “She will have to squeak, for all I can see,” said Miss Parmalee. “It + looks to me like one of those situations that no human being can change + for better or worse.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you are right,” said Madame, “but it is most unfortunate, and + Mrs. Wheeler is such a superior woman, and Amelia is her only child, and + this is such a very subtle and regrettable affair. Well, we have to leave + a great deal to Providence.” + </p> + <p> + “If,” said Miss Parmalee, “she could only get angry when she is called + 'Copy-Cat.'” Miss Parmalee laughed, and so did Miss Acton. Then all the + ladies had their cups refilled, and left Providence to look out for poor + little Amelia Wheeler, in her mad pursuit of her ideal in the shape of + another little girl possessed of the exterior graces which she had not. + </p> + <p> + Meantime the little “Copy-Cat” had never been so happy. She began to + improve in her looks also. Her grandmother Wheeler noticed it first, and + spoke of it to Grandmother Stark. “That child may not be so plain, after + all,” said she. “I looked at her this morning when she started for school, + and I thought for the first time that there was a little resemblance to + the Wheelers.” + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Stark sniffed, but she looked gratified. “I have been noticing + it for some time,” said she, “but as for looking like the Wheelers, I + thought this morning for a minute that I actually saw my poor dear husband + looking at me out of that blessed child's eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Wheeler smiled her little, aggravating, curved, pink smile. + </p> + <p> + But even Mrs. Diantha began to notice the change for the better in Amelia. + She, however, attributed it to an increase of appetite and a system of + deep breathing which she had herself taken up and enjoined Amelia to + follow. Amelia was following Lily Jennings instead, but that her mother + did not know. Still, she was gratified to see Amelia's little sallow + cheeks taking on pretty curves and a soft bloom, and she was more inclined + to listen when Grandmother Wheeler ventured to approach the subject of + Amelia's attire. + </p> + <p> + “Amelia would not be so bad-looking if she were better dressed, Diantha,” + said she. + </p> + <p> + Diantha lifted her chin, but she paid heed. “Why, does not Amelia dress + perfectly well, mother?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “She dresses well enough, but she needs more ribbons and ruffles.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not approve of so many ribbons and ruffles,” said Mrs. Diantha. + “Amelia has perfectly neat, fresh black or brown ribbons for her hair, and + ruffles are not sanitary.” + </p> + <p> + “Ruffles are pretty,” said Grandmother Wheeler, “and blue and pink are + pretty colors. Now, that Jennings girl looks like a little picture.” + </p> + <p> + But that last speech of Grandmother Wheeler's undid all the previous good. + Mrs. Diantha had an unacknowledged—even to herself—disapproval + of Mrs. Jennings which dated far back in the past, for a reason which was + quite unworthy of her and of her strong mind. When she and Lily's mother + had been girls, she had seen Mrs. Jennings look like a picture, and had + been perfectly well aware that she herself fell far short of an artist's + ideal. Perhaps if Mrs. Stark had believed in ruffles and ribbons, her + daughter might have had a different mind when Grandmother Wheeler had + finished her little speech. + </p> + <p> + As it was, Mrs. Diantha surveyed her small, pretty mother-in-law with + dignified serenity, which savored only delicately of a snub. “I do not + myself approve of the way in which Mrs. Jennings dresses her daughter,” + said she, “and I do not consider that the child presents to a practical + observer as good an appearance as my Amelia.” + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Wheeler had a temper. It was a childish temper and soon over—still, + a temper. “Lord,” said she, “if you mean to say that you think your poor + little snipe of a daughter, dressed like a little maid-of-all-work, can + compare with that lovely little Lily Jennings, who is dressed like a doll!—” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish that my daughter should be dressed like a doll,” said Mrs. + Diantha, coolly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she certainly isn't,” said Grandmother Wheeler. “Nobody would ever + take her for a doll as far as looks or dress are concerned. She may be + GOOD enough. I don't deny that Amelia is a good little girl, but her looks + could be improved on.” + </p> + <p> + “Looks matter very little,” said Mrs. Diantha. + </p> + <p> + “They matter very much,” said Grandmother Wheeler, pugnaciously, her blue + eyes taking on a peculiar opaque glint, as always when she lost her + temper, “very much indeed. But looks can't be helped. If poor little + Amelia wasn't born with pretty looks, she wasn't. But she wasn't born with + such ugly clothes. She might be better dressed.” + </p> + <p> + “I dress my daughter as I consider best,” said Mrs. Diantha. Then she left + the room. + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Wheeler sat for a few minutes, her blue eyes opaque, her + little pink lips a straight line; then suddenly her eyes lit, and she + smiled. “Poor Diantha,” said she, “I remember how Henry used to like Lily + Jennings's mother before he married Diantha. Sour grapes hang high.” But + Grandmother Wheeler's beautiful old face was quite soft and gentle. From + her heart she pitied the reacher after those high-hanging sour grapes, for + Mrs. Diantha had been very good to her. + </p> + <p> + Then Grandmother Wheeler, who had a mild persistency not evident to a + casual observer, began to make plans and lay plots. She was resolved, + Diantha or not, that her granddaughter, her son's child, should have some + fine feathers. The little conference had taken place in her own room, a + large, sunny one, with a little storeroom opening from it. Presently + Grandmother Wheeler rose, entered the storeroom, and began rummaging in + some old trunks. Then followed days of secret work. Grandmother Wheeler + had been noted as a fine needlewoman, and her hand had not yet lost its + cunning. She had one of Amelia's ugly little ginghams, purloined from a + closet, for size, and she worked two or three dainty wonders. She took + Grandmother Stark into her confidence. Sometimes the two ladies, by reason + of their age, found it possible to combine with good results. + </p> + <p> + “Your daughter Diantha is one woman in a thousand,” said Grandmother + Wheeler, diplomatically, one day, “but she never did care much for + clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Diantha,” returned Grandmother Stark, with a suspicious glance, “always + realized that clothes were not the things that mattered.” + </p> + <p> + “And, of course, she is right,” said Grandmother Wheeler, piously. “Your + Diantha is one woman in a thousand. If she cared as much for fine clothes + as some women, I don't know where we should all be. It would spoil poor + little Amelia.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it would,” assented Grandmother Stark. “Nothing spoils a little girl + more than always to be thinking about her clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was looking at Amelia the other day, and thinking how much more + sensible she appeared in her plain gingham than Lily Jennings in all her + ruffles and ribbons. Even if people were all noticing Lily, and praising + her, thinks I to myself, 'How little difference such things really make. + Even if our dear Amelia does stand to one side, and nobody notices her, + what real matter is it?'” Grandmother Wheeler was inwardly chuckling as + she spoke. + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Stark was at once alert. “Do you mean to say that Amelia is + really not taken so much notice of because she dresses plainly?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean that you don't know it, as observant as you are?” replied + Grandmother Wheeler. + </p> + <p> + “Diantha ought not to let it go as far as that,” said Grandmother Stark. + Grandmother Wheeler looked at her queerly. “Why do you look at me like + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did something I feared I ought not to have done. And I didn't + know what to do, but your speaking so makes me wonder—” + </p> + <p> + “Wonder what?” + </p> + <p> + Then Grandmother Wheeler went to her little storeroom and emerged bearing + a box. She displayed the contents—three charming little white frocks + fluffy with lace and embroidery. + </p> + <p> + “Did you make them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did. I couldn't help it. I thought if the dear child never wore + them, it would be some comfort to know they were in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “That one needs a broad blue sash,” said Grandmother Stark. + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Wheeler laughed. She took her impecuniosity easily. “I had to + use what I had,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I will get a blue sash for that one,” said Grandmother Stark, “and a pink + sash for that, and a flowered one for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course they will make all the difference,” said Grandmother Wheeler. + “Those beautiful sashes will really make the dresses.” + </p> + <p> + “I will get them,” said Grandmother Stark, with decision. “I will go right + down to Mann Brothers' store now and get them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will make the bows, and sew them on,” replied Grandmother Wheeler, + happily. + </p> + <p> + It thus happened that little Amelia Wheeler was possessed of three + beautiful dresses, although she did not know it. + </p> + <p> + For a long time neither of the two conspiring grandmothers dared divulge + the secret. Mrs. Diantha was a very determined woman, and even her own + mother stood somewhat in awe of her. Therefore, little Amelia went to + school during the spring term soberly clad as ever, and even on the + festive last day wore nothing better than a new blue gingham, made too + long, to allow for shrinkage, and new blue hair-ribbons. The two + grandmothers almost wept in secret conclave over the lovely frocks which + were not worn. + </p> + <p> + “I respect Diantha,” said Grandmother Wheeler. “You know that. She is one + woman in a thousand, but I do hate to have that poor child go to school + to-day with so many to look at her, and she dressed so unlike all the + other little girls.” + </p> + <p> + “Diantha has got so much sense, it makes her blind and deaf,” declared + Grandmother Stark. “I call it a shame, if she is my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't venture—” + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Stark reddened. She did not like to own to awe of her + daughter. “I VENTURE, if that is all,” said she, tartly. “You don't + suppose I am afraid of Diantha?—but she would not let Amelia wear + one of the dresses, anyway, and I don't want the child made any unhappier + than she is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will admit,” replied Grandmother Wheeler, “if poor Amelia knew + she had these beautiful dresses and could not wear them she might feel + worse about wearing that homely gingham.” + </p> + <p> + “Gingham!” fairly snorted Grandmother Stark. “I cannot see why Diantha + thinks so much of gingham. It shrinks, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Poor little Amelia did undoubtedly suffer on that last day, when she sat + among the others gaily clad, and looked down at her own common little + skirts. She was very glad, however, that she had not been chosen to do any + of the special things which would have necessitated her appearance upon + the little flower-decorated platform. She did not know of the conversation + between Madame and her two assistants. + </p> + <p> + “I would have Amelia recite a little verse or two,” said Madame, “but how + can I?” Madame adored dress, and had a lovely new one of sheer dull-blue + stuff, with touches of silver, for the last day. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” agreed Miss Parmalee, “that poor child is sensitive, and for her to + stand on the platform in one of those plain ginghams would be too cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, too,” said Miss Acton, “she would recite her verses exactly like + Lily Jennings. She can make her voice exactly like Lily's now. Then + everybody would laugh, and Amelia would not know why. She would think they + were laughing at her dress, and that would be dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + If Amelia's mother could have heard that conversation everything would + have been different, although it is puzzling to decide in what way. + </p> + <p> + It was the last of the summer vacation in early September, just before + school began, that a climax came to Amelia's idolatry and imitation of + Lily. The Jenningses had not gone away that summer, so the two little + girls had been thrown together a good deal. Mrs. Diantha never went away + during a summer. She considered it her duty to remain at home, and she was + quite pitiless to herself when it came to a matter of duty. + </p> + <p> + However, as a result she was quite ill during the last of August and the + first of September. The season had been unusually hot, and Mrs. Diantha + had not spared herself from her duty on account of the heat. She would + have scorned herself if she had done so. But she could not, strong-minded + as she was, avert something like a heat prostration after a long walk + under a burning sun, nor weeks of confinement and idleness in her room + afterward. + </p> + <p> + When September came, and a night or two of comparative coolness, she felt + stronger; still she was compelled by most unusual weakness to refrain from + her energetic trot in her duty-path; and then it was that something + happened. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon Lily fluttered over to Amelia's, and Amelia, ever on the + watch, spied her. + </p> + <p> + “May I go out and see Lily?” she asked Grandmother Stark. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but don't talk under the windows; your mother is asleep.” + </p> + <p> + Amelia ran out. + </p> + <p> + “I declare,” said Grandmother Stark to Grandmother Wheeler, “I was half a + mind to tell that child to wait a minute and slip on one of those pretty + dresses. I hate to have her go on the street in that old gingham, with + that Jennings girl dressed up like a wax doll.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “And now poor Diantha is so weak—and asleep—it would not have + annoyed her.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it.” + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Stark looked at Grandmother Wheeler. Of the two she possessed + a greater share of original sin compared with the size of her soul. + Moreover, she felt herself at liberty to circumvent her own daughter. + Whispering, she unfolded a daring scheme to the other grandmother, who + stared at her aghast a second out of her lovely blue eyes, then laughed + softly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said she, “if you dare.” + </p> + <p> + “I rather think I dare!” said Grandmother Stark. “Isn't Diantha Wheeler my + own daughter?” Grandmother Stark had grown much bolder since Mrs. Diantha + had been ill. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Lily and Amelia walked down the street until they came to a + certain vacant lot intersected by a foot-path between tall, feathery + grasses and goldenrod and asters and milkweed. They entered the foot-path, + and swarms of little butterflies rose around them, and once in a while a + protesting bumblebee. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid we will be stung by the bees,” said Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “Bumblebees never sting,” said Lily; and Amelia believed her. + </p> + <p> + When the foot-path ended, there was the riverbank. The two little girls + sat down under a clump of brook willows and talked, while the river, full + of green and blue and golden lights, slipped past them and never stopped. + </p> + <p> + Then Lily proceeded to unfold a plan, which was not philosophical, but + naughtily ingenious. By this time Lily knew very well that Amelia admired + her, and imitated her as successfully as possible, considering the + drawback of dress and looks. + </p> + <p> + When she had finished Amelia was quite pale. “I am afraid, I am afraid, + Lily,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “What of?” + </p> + <p> + “My mother will find out; besides, I am afraid it isn't right.” + </p> + <p> + “Who ever told you it was wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody ever did,” admitted Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then you haven't any reason to think it is,” said Lily, + triumphantly. “And how is your mother ever going to find it out?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't she ill in her room? And does she ever come to kiss you good night, + the way my mother does, when she is well?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” admitted Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “And neither of your grandmothers?” + </p> + <p> + “Grandmother Stark would think it was silly, like mother, and Grandmother + Wheeler can't go up and down stairs very well.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't see but you are perfectly safe. I am the only one that runs any + risk at all. I run a great deal of risk, but I am willing to take it,” + said Lily with a virtuous air. Lily had a small but rather involved scheme + simply for her own ends, which did not seem to call for much virtue, but + rather the contrary. + </p> + <p> + Lily had overheard Arnold Carruth and Johnny Trumbull and Lee Westminster + and another boy, Jim Patterson, planning a most delightful affair, which + even in the cases of the boys was fraught with danger, secrecy, and + doubtful rectitude. Not one of the four boys had had a vacation from the + village that summer, and their young minds had become charged, as it were, + with the seeds of revolution and rebellion. Jim Patterson, the son of the + rector, and of them all the most venturesome, had planned to take—he + called it “take”; he meant to pay for it, anyway, he said, as soon as he + could shake enough money out of his nickel savings-bank—one of his + father's Plymouth Rock chickens and have a chickenroast in the woods back + of Dr. Trumbull's. He had planned for Johnny to take some ears of corn + suitable for roasting from his father's garden; for Lee to take some + cookies out of a stone jar in his mother's pantry; and for Arnold to take + some potatoes. Then they four would steal forth under cover of night, + build a camp-fire, roast their spoils, and feast. + </p> + <p> + Lily had resolved to be of the party. She resorted to no open methods; the + stones of the fighting suffragettes were not for her, little honey-sweet, + curled, and ruffled darling; rather the time-worn, if not time-sanctified, + weapons of her sex, little instruments of wiles, and tiny dodges, and tiny + subterfuges, which would serve her best. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” she said to Amelia, “you don't look like me. Of course you + know that, and that can't be helped; but you do walk like me, and talk + like me, you know that, because they call you 'CopyCat.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said poor Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind if they do call you 'Copy-Cat,'” said Lily, magnanimously. + “I don't mind a bit. But, you see, my mother always comes up-stairs to + kiss me good night after I have gone to bed, and tomorrow night she has a + dinner-party, and she will surely be a little late, and I can't manage + unless you help me. I will get one of my white dresses for you, and all + you have to do is to climb out of your window into that cedar-tree—you + know you can climb down that, because you are so afraid of burglars + climbing up—and you can slip on my dress; you had better throw it + out of the window and not try to climb in it, because my dresses tear + awful easy, and we might get caught that way. Then you just sneak down to + our house, and I shall be outdoors; and when you go up-stairs, if the + doors should be open, and anybody should call, you can answer just like + me; and I have found that light curly wig Aunt Laura wore when she had her + head shaved after she had a fever, and you just put that on and go to bed, + and mother will never know when she kisses you good night. Then after the + roast I will go to your house, and climb up that tree, and go to bed in + your room. And I will have one of your gingham dresses to wear, and very + early in the morning I will get up, and you get up, and we both of us can + get down the back stairs without being seen, and run home.” + </p> + <p> + Amelia was almost weeping. It was her worshiped Lily's plan, but she was + horribly scared. “I don't know,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know! You've got to! You don't love me one single bit or you + wouldn't stop to think about whether you didn't know.” It was the + world-old argument which floors love. Amelia succumbed. + </p> + <p> + The next evening a frightened little girl clad in one of Lily Jennings's + white embroidered frocks was racing to the Jenningses' house, and another + little girl, not at all frightened, but enjoying the stimulus of mischief + and unwontedness, was racing to the wood behind Dr. Trumbull's house, and + that little girl was clad in one of Amelia Wheeler's ginghams. But the + plan went all awry. + </p> + <p> + Lily waited, snuggled up behind an alder-bush, and the boys came, one by + one, and she heard this whispered, although there was no necessity for + whispering, “Jim Patterson, where's that hen?” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't get her. Grabbed her, and all her tail-feathers came out in a + bunch right in my hand, and she squawked so, father heard. He was in his + study writing his sermon, and he came out, and if I hadn't hid behind the + chicken-coop and then run I couldn't have got here. But I can't see as + you've got any corn, Johnny Trumbull.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't. Every single ear was cooked for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't bring any cookies, either,” said Lee Westminster; “there + weren't any cookies in the jar.” + </p> + <p> + “And I couldn't bring the potatoes, because the outside cellar door was + locked,” said Arnold Carruth. “I had to go down the back stairs and out + the south door, and the inside cellar door opens out of our dining-room, + and I daren't go in there.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we might as well go home,” said Johnny Trumbull. “If I had been you, + Jim Patterson, I would have brought that old hen if her tail-feathers had + come out. Seems to me you scare awful easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess if you had heard her squawk!” said Jim, resentfully. “If you want + to try to lick me, come on, Johnny Trumbull. Guess you don't darse call me + scared again.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny eyed him standing there in the gloom. Jim was not large, but very + wiry, and the ground was not suited for combat. Johnny, although a victor, + would probably go home considerably the worse in appearance; and he could + anticipate the consequences were his father to encounter him. + </p> + <p> + “Shucks!” said Johnny Trumbull, of the fine old Trumbull family and + Madame's exclusive school. “Shucks! who wants your old hen? We had chicken + for dinner, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “So did we,” said Arnold Carruth. + </p> + <p> + “We did, and corn,” said Lee. + </p> + <p> + “We did,” said Jim. + </p> + <p> + Lily stepped forth from the alder-bush. “If,” said she, “I were a boy, and + had started to have a chicken-roast, I would have HAD a chicken-roast.” + </p> + <p> + But every boy, even the valiant Johnny Trumbull, was gone in a mad + scutter. This sudden apparition of a girl was too much for their nerves. + They never even knew who the girl was, although little Arnold Carruth said + she had looked to him like “Copy-Cat,” but the others scouted the idea. + </p> + <p> + Lily Jennings made the best of her way out of the wood across lots to the + road. She was not in a particularly enviable case. Amelia Wheeler was + presumably in her bed, and she saw nothing for it but to take the + difficult way to Amelia's. + </p> + <p> + Lily tore a great rent in the gingham going up the cedar-tree, but that + was nothing to what followed. She entered through Amelia's window, her + prim little room, to find herself confronted by Amelia's mother in a + wrapper, and her two grandmothers. Grandmother Stark had over her arm a + beautiful white embroidered dress. The two old ladies had entered the room + in order to lay the white dress on a chair and take away Amelia's gingham, + and there was no Amelia. Mrs. Diantha had heard the commotion, and had + risen, thrown on her wrapper, and come. Her mother had turned upon her. + </p> + <p> + “It is all your fault, Diantha,” she had declared. + </p> + <p> + “My fault?” echoed Mrs. Diantha, bewildered. “Where is Amelia?” + </p> + <p> + “We don't know,” said Grandmother Stark, “but you have probably driven her + away from home by your cruelty.” + </p> + <p> + “Cruelty?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, cruelty. What right had you to make that poor child look like a + fright, so people laughed at her? We have made her some dresses that look + decent, and had come here to leave them, and to take away those old + gingham things that look as if she lived in the almshouse, and leave + these, so she would either have to wear them or go without, when we found + she had gone.” + </p> + <p> + It was at that crucial moment that Lily entered by way of the window. + </p> + <p> + “Here she is now,” shrieked Grandmother Stark. “Amelia, where—” Then + she stopped short. + </p> + <p> + Everybody stared at Lily's beautiful face suddenly gone white. For once + Lily was frightened. She lost all self-control. She began to sob. She + could scarcely tell the absurd story for sobs, but she told, every word. + </p> + <p> + Then, with a sudden boldness, she too turned on Mrs. Diantha. “They call + poor Amelia 'CopyCat,'” said she, “and I don't believe she would ever have + tried so hard to look like me only my mother dresses me so I look nice, + and you send Amelia to school looking awfully.” Then Lily sobbed again. + </p> + <p> + “My Amelia is at your house, as I understand?” said Mrs. Diantha, in an + awful voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, ma-am.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go,” said Mrs. Diantha, violently, to Grandmother Stark, who tried + to restrain her. Mrs. Diantha dressed herself and marched down the street, + dragging Lily after her. The little girl had to trot to keep up with the + tall woman's strides, and all the way she wept. + </p> + <p> + It was to Lily's mother's everlasting discredit, in Mrs. Diantha's + opinion, but to Lily's wonderful relief, that when she heard the story, + standing in the hall in her lovely dinner dress, with the strains of music + floating from the drawing-room, and cigar smoke floating from the + dining-room, she laughed. When Lily said, “And there wasn't even any + chickenroast, mother,” she nearly had hysterics. + </p> + <p> + “If you think this is a laughing matter, Mrs. Jennings, I do not,” said + Mrs. Diantha, and again her dislike and sorrow at the sight of that sweet, + mirthful face was over her. It was a face to be loved, and hers was not. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I went up-stairs and kissed the child good night, and never + suspected,” laughed Lily's mother. + </p> + <p> + “I got Aunt Laura's curly, light wig for her,” explained Lily, and Mrs. + Jennings laughed again. + </p> + <p> + It was not long before Amelia, in her gingham, went home, led by her + mother—her mother, who was trembling with weakness now. Mrs. Diantha + did not scold. She did not speak, but Amelia felt with wonder her little + hand held very tenderly by her mother's long fingers. + </p> + <p> + When at last she was undressed and in bed, Mrs. Diantha, looking very + pale, kissed her, and so did both grandmothers. + </p> + <p> + Amelia, being very young and very tired, went to sleep. She did not know + that that night was to mark a sharp turn in her whole life. Thereafter she + went to school “dressed like the best,” and her mother petted her as + nobody had ever known her mother could pet. + </p> + <p> + It was not so very long afterward that Amelia, out of her own improvement + in appearance, developed a little stamp of individuality. + </p> + <p> + One day Lily wore a white frock with blue ribbons, and Amelia wore one + with coral pink. It was a particular day in school; there was company, and + tea was served. + </p> + <p> + “I told you I was going to wear blue ribbons,” Lily whispered to Amelia. + Amelia smiled lovingly back at her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, but I thought I would wear pink.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COCK OF THE WALK + </h2> + <p> + DOWN the road, kicking up the dust until he marched, soldier-wise, in a + cloud of it, that rose and grimed his moist face and added to the heavy, + brown powder upon the wayside weeds and flowers, whistling a queer, + tuneless thing, which yet contained definite sequences—the whistle + of a bird rather than a boy—approached Johnny Trumbull, aged ten, + small of his age, but accounted by his mates mighty. + </p> + <p> + Johnny came of the best and oldest family in the village, but it was in + some respects an undesirable family for a boy. In it survived, as fossils + survive in ancient nooks and crannies of the earth, old traits of race, + unchanged by time and environment. Living in a house lighted by + electricity, the mental conception of it was to the Trumbulls as the + conception of candles; with telephones at hand, they unconsciously still + conceived of messages delivered with the old saying, “Ride, ride,” etc., + and relays of post-horses. They locked their doors, but still had + latch-strings in mind. Johnny's father was a physician, adopting modern + methods of surgery and prescription, yet his mind harked back to cupping + and calomel, and now and then he swerved aside from his path across the + field of the present into the future and plunged headlong, as if for fresh + air, into the traditional past, and often with brilliant results. + </p> + <p> + Johnny's mother was a college graduate. She was the president of the + woman's club. She read papers savoring of such feminine leaps ahead that + they were like gymnastics, but she walked homeward with the gait of her + great-grandmother, and inwardly regarded her husband as her lord and + master. She minced genteelly, lifting her quite fashionable skirts high + above very slender ankles, which were hereditary. Not a woman of her race + had ever gone home on thick ankles, and they had all gone home. They had + all been at home, even if abroad—at home in the truest sense. At the + club, reading her inflammatory paper, Cora Trumbull's real self remained + at home intent upon her mending, her dusting, her house economics. It was + something remarkably like her astral body which presided at the club. + </p> + <p> + As for her unmarried sister Janet, who was older and had graduated from a + young ladies' seminary instead of a college, whose early fancy had been + guided into the lady-like ways of antimacassars and pincushions and wax + flowers under glass shades, she was a straighter proposition. No astral + pretensions had Janet. She stayed, body and soul together, in the old + ways, and did not even project her shadow out of them. There is seldom + room enough for one's shadow in one's earliest way of life, but there was + plenty for Janet's. There had been a Janet unmarried in every Trumbull + family for generations. That in some subtle fashion accounted for her + remaining single. There had also been an unmarried Jonathan Trumbull, and + that accounted for Johnny's old bachelor uncle Jonathan. Jonathan was a + retired clergyman. He had retired before he had preached long, because of + doctrinal doubts, which were hereditary. He had a little, dark study in + Johnny's father's house, which was the old Trumbull homestead, and he + passed much of his time there, debating within himself that matter of + doctrines. + </p> + <p> + Presently Johnny, assiduously kicking up dust, met his uncle Jonathan, who + passed without the slightest notice. Johnny did not mind at all. He was + used to it. Presently his own father appeared, driving along in his buggy + the bay mare at a steady jog, with the next professional call quite + clearly upon her equine mind. And Johnny's father did not see him. Johnny + did not mind that, either. He expected nothing different. + </p> + <p> + Then Johnny saw his mother approaching. She was coming from the club + meeting. She held up her silk skirts high, as usual, and carried a nice + little parcel of papers tied with ribbon. She also did not notice Johnny, + who, however, out of sweet respect for his mother's nice silk dress, + stopped kicking up dust. Mrs. Trumbull on the village street was really at + home preparing a shortcake for supper. + </p> + <p> + Johnny eyed his mother's faded but rather beautiful face under the + rose-trimmed bonnet with admiration and entire absence of resentment. Then + he walked on and kicked up the dust again. He loved to kick up the dust in + summer, the fallen leaves in autumn, and the snow in winter. Johnny was + not a typical Trumbull. None of them had ever cared for simple amusements + like that. Looking back for generations on his father's and mother's side + (both had been Trumbulls, but very distantly related), none could be + discovered who in the least resembled Johnny. No dim blue eye of + retrospection and reflection had Johnny; no tendency to tall slenderness + which would later bow beneath the greater weight of the soul. Johnny was + small, but wiry of build, and looked able to bear any amount of mental + development without a lasting bend of his physical shoulders. Johnny had, + at the early age of ten, whopped nearly every boy in school, but that was + a secret of honor. It was well known in the school that, once the + Trumbulls heard of it, Johnny could never whop again. “You fellows know,” + Johnny had declared once, standing over his prostrate and whimpering foe, + “that I don't mind getting whopped at home, but they might send me away to + another school, and then I could never whop any of you fellows.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny Trumbull kicking up the dust, himself dust-covered, his shoes, his + little queerly fitting dun suit, his cropped head, all thickly powdered, + loved it. He sniffed in that dust like a grateful incense. He did not stop + dust-kicking when he saw his aunt Janet coming, for, as he considered, her + old black gown was not worth the sacrifice. It was true that she might see + him. She sometimes did, if she were not reading a book as she walked. It + had always been a habit with the Janet Trumbulls to read improving books + when they walked abroad. To-day Johnny saw, with a quick glance of those + sharp, black eyes, so unlike the Trumbulls', that his aunt Janet was + reading. He therefore expected her to pass him without recognition, and + marched on kicking up the dust. But suddenly, as he grew nearer the spry + little figure, he was aware of a pair of gray eyes, before which waved + protectingly a hand clad in a black silk glove with dangling finger-tips, + because it was too long, and it dawned swiftly upon him that Aunt Janet + was trying to shield her face from the moving column of brown motes. He + stopped kicking, but it was too late. Aunt Janet had him by the collar and + was vigorously shaking him with nervous strength. + </p> + <p> + “You are a very naughty little boy,” declared Aunt Janet. “You should know + better than to walk along the street raising so much dust. No + well-brought-up child ever does such things. Who are your parents, little + boy?” + </p> + <p> + Johnny perceived that Aunt Janet did not recognize him, which was easily + explained. She wore her reading-spectacles and not her far-seeing ones; + besides, her reading spectacles were obscured by dust and her nephew's + face was nearly obliterated. Also as she shook him his face was not much + in evidence. Johnny disliked, naturally, to tell his aunt Janet that her + own sister and brother-in-law were the parents of such a wicked little + boy. He therefore kept quiet and submitted to the shaking, making himself + as limp as a rag. This, however, exasperated Aunt Janet, who found herself + encumbered by a dead weight of a little boy to be shaken, and suddenly + Johnny Trumbull, the fighting champion of the town, the cock of the walk + of the school, found himself being ignominiously spanked. That was too + much. Johnny's fighting blood was up. He lost all consideration for + circumstances, he forgot that Aunt Janet was not a boy, that she was quite + near being an old lady. She had overstepped the bounds of privilege of age + and sex, and an alarming state of equality ensued. Quickly the tables were + turned. The boy became far from limp. He stiffened, then bounded and + rebounded like wire. He butted, he parried, he observed all his famous + tactics of battle, and poor Aunt Janet sat down in the dust, black dress, + bonnet, glasses (but the glasses were off and lost), little improving + book, black silk gloves, and all; and Johnny, hopeless, awful, irreverent, + sat upon his Aunt Janet's plunging knees, which seemed the most lively + part of her. He kept his face twisted away from her, but it was not from + cowardice. Johnny was afraid lest Aunt Janet should be too much overcome + by the discovery of his identity. He felt that it was his duty to spare + her that. So he sat still, triumphant but inwardly aghast. + </p> + <p> + It was fast dawning upon him that his aunt was not a little boy. He was + not afraid of any punishment which might be meted out to him, but he was + simply horrified. He himself had violated all the honorable conditions of + warfare. He felt a little dizzy and ill, and he felt worse when he + ventured a hurried glance at Aunt Janet's face. She was very pale through + the dust, and her eyes were closed. Johnny thought then that he had killed + her. + </p> + <p> + He got up—the nervous knees were no longer plunging; then he heard a + voice, a little-girl voice, always shrill, but now high pitched to a + squeak with terror. It was the voice of Lily Jennings. She stood near and + yet aloof, a lovely little flower of a girl, all white-scalloped frills + and ribbons, with a big white-frilled hat shading a pale little face and + covering the top of a head decorated with wonderful yellow curls. She + stood behind a big baby-carriage with a pink-lined muslin canopy and + containing a nest of pink and white, but an empty nest. Lily's little + brother's carriage had a spring broken, and she had been to borrow her + aunt's baby-carriage, so that nurse could wheel little brother up and down + the veranda. Nurse had a headache, and the maids were busy, and Lily, who + was a kind little soul and, moreover, imaginative, and who liked the idea + of pushing an empty baby-carriage, had volunteered to go for it. All the + way she had been dreaming of what was not in the carriage. She had come + directly out of a dream of doll twins when she chanced upon the tragedy in + the road. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing now, Johnny Trumbull?” said she. She was + tremulous, white with horror, but she stood her ground. It was curious, + but Johnny Trumbull, with all his bravery, was always cowed before Lily. + Once she had turned and stared at him when he had emerged triumphant but + with bleeding nose from a fight; then she had sniffed delicately and gone + her way. It had only taken a second, but in that second the victor had met + moral defeat. + </p> + <p> + He looked now at her pale, really scared face, and his own was as pale. He + stood and kicked the dust until the swirling column of it reached his + head. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” said Lily; “stand and kick up dust all over me. WHAT have + you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + Johnny was trembling so he could hardly stand. He stopped kicking dust. + </p> + <p> + “Have you killed your aunt?” demanded Lily. It was monstrous, but she had + a very dramatic imagination, and there was a faint hint of enjoyment in + her tragic voice. + </p> + <p> + “Guess she's just choked by dust,” volunteered Johnny, hoarsely. He kicked + the dust again. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” said Lily. “If she's choked to death by dust, stand there + and choke her some more. You are a murderer, Johnny Trumbull, and my mamma + will never allow me to speak to you again, and Madame will not allow you + to come to school. AND—I see your papa driving up the street, and + there is the chief policeman's buggy just behind.” Lily acquiesced + entirely in the extraordinary coincidence of the father and the chief of + police appearing upon the scene. The unlikely seemed to her the likely. + “NOW,” said she, cheerfully, “you will be put in state prison and locked + up, and then you will be put to death by a very strong telephone.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny's father was leaning out of his buggy, looking back at the chief of + police in his, and the mare was jogging very slowly in a perfect reek of + dust. Lily, who was, in spite of her terrific imagination, human and a + girl, rose suddenly to heights of pity and succor. “They shall never take + you, Johnny Trumbull,” said she. “I will save you.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny by this time was utterly forgetful of his high status as champion + (behind her back) of Madame's very select school for select children of a + somewhat select village. He was forgetful of the fact that a champion + never cries. He cried; he blubbered; tears rolled over his dusty cheeks, + making furrows like plowshares of grief. He feared lest he might have + killed his aunt Janet. Women, and not very young women, might presumably + be unable to survive such rough usage as very tough and at the same time + very limber little boys, and he loved his poor aunt Janet. He grieved + because of his aunt, his parents, his uncle, and rather more particularly + because of himself. He was quite sure that the policeman was coming for + him. Logic had no place in his frenzied conclusions. He did not consider + how the tragedy had taken place entirely out of sight of a house, that + Lily Jennings was the only person who had any knowledge of it. He looked + at the masterful, fair-haired little girl like a baby. “How?” sniffed he. + </p> + <p> + For answer, Lily pointed to the empty baby-carriage. “Get right in,” she + ordered. + </p> + <p> + Even in this dire extremity Johnny hesitated. “Can't.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can. It is extra large. Aunt Laura's baby was a twin when he + first came; now he's just an ordinary baby, but his carriage is big enough + for two. There's plenty of room. Besides, you're a very small boy, very + small of your age, even if you do knock all the other boys down and have + murdered your aunt. Get in. In a minute they will see you.” + </p> + <p> + There was in reality no time to lose. Johnny did get in. In spite of the + provisions for twins, there was none too much room. + </p> + <p> + Lily covered him up with the fluffy pink-and-lace things, and scowled. + “You hump up awfully,” she muttered. Then she reached beneath him and + snatched out the pillow on which he lay, the baby's little bed. She gave + it a swift toss over the fringe of wayside bushes into a field. “Aunt + Laura's nice embroidered pillow,” said she. “Make yourself just as flat as + you can, Johnny Trumbull.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny obeyed, but he was obliged to double himself up like a jack-knife. + However, there was no sign of him visible when the two buggies drew up. + There stood a pale and frightened little girl, with a baby-carriage + canopied with rose and lace and heaped up with rosy and lacy coverlets, + presumably sheltering a sleeping infant. Lily was a very keen little girl. + She had sense enough not to run. The two men, at the sight of Aunt Janet + prostrate in the road, leaped out of their buggies. The doctor's horse + stood still; the policeman's trotted away, to Lily's great relief. She + could not imagine Johnny's own father haling him away to state prison and + the stern Arm of Justice. She stood the fire of bewildered questions in + the best and safest fashion. She wept bitterly, and her tears were not + assumed. Poor little Lily was all of a sudden crushed under the weight of + facts. There was Aunt Janet, she had no doubt, killed by her own nephew, + and she was hiding the guilty murderer. She had visions of state prison + for herself. She watched fearfully while the two men bent over the + prostrate woman, who very soon began to sputter and gasp and try to sit + up. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth is the matter, Janet?” inquired Dr. Trumbull, who was paler + than his sister-inlaw. In fact, she was unable to look very pale on + account of dust. + </p> + <p> + “Ow!” sputtered Aunt Janet, coughing violently, “get me up out of this + dust, John. Ow!” + </p> + <p> + “What was the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, what has happened, madam?” demanded the chief of police, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Aunt Janet, to Lily's and Johnny's amazement. “What do + you think has happened? I fell down in all this nasty dust. Ow!” + </p> + <p> + “What did you eat for luncheon, Janet?” inquired Dr. Trumbull, as he + assisted his sister-inlaw to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “What I was a fool to eat,” replied Janet Trumbull, promptly. “Cucumber + salad and lemon jelly with whipped cream.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough to make anybody have indigestion,” said Dr. Trumbull. “You have + had one of these attacks before, too, Janet. You remember the time you ate + strawberry shortcake and ice-cream?” + </p> + <p> + Janet nodded meekly. Then she coughed again. “Ow, this dust!” gasped she. + “For goodness' sake, John, get me home where I can get some water and take + off these dusty clothes or I shall choke to death.” + </p> + <p> + “How does your stomach feel?” inquired Dr. Trumbull. + </p> + <p> + “Stomach is all right now, but I am just choking to death with the dust.” + Janet turned sharply toward the policeman. “You have sense enough to keep + still, I hope,” said she. “I don't want the whole town ringing with my + being such an idiot as to eat cucumbers and cream together and being found + this way.” Janet looked like an animated creation of dust as she faced the + chief of police. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” he replied, bowing and scraping one foot and raising more + dust. + </p> + <p> + He and Dr. Trumbull assisted Aunt Janet into the buggy, and they drove + off. Then the chief of police discovered that his own horse had gone. “Did + you see which way he went, sis?” he inquired of Lily, and she pointed down + the road, and sobbed as she did so. + </p> + <p> + The policeman said something bad under his breath, then advised Lily to + run home to her ma, and started down the road. + </p> + <p> + When he was out of sight, Lily drew back the pink-and-white things from + Johnny's face. “Well, you didn't kill her this time,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you s'pose she didn't tell all about it?” said Johnny, gaping at + her. + </p> + <p> + “How do I know? I suppose she was ashamed to tell how she had been + fighting, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that was not why,” said Johnny in a deep voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why was it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “SHE KNEW.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny began to climb out of the baby-carriage. + </p> + <p> + “What will she do next, then?” asked Lily. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” Johnny replied, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + He was out of the carriage then, and Lily was readjusting the pillows and + things. “Get that nice embroidered pillow I threw over the bushes,” she + ordered, crossly. Johnny obeyed. When she had finished putting the + baby-carriage to rights she turned upon poor little Johnny Trumbull, and + her face wore the expression of a queen of tragedy. “Well,” said Lily + Jennings, “I suppose I shall have to marry you when I am grown up, after + all this.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny gasped. He thought Lily the most beautiful girl he knew, but to be + confronted with murder and marriage within a few minutes was almost too + much. He flushed a burning red. He laughed foolishly. He said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “It will be very hard on me,” stated Lily, “to marry a boy who tried to + murder his nice aunt.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny revived a bit under this feminine disdain. “I didn't try to murder + her,” he said in a weak voice. + </p> + <p> + “You might have, throwing her down in all that awful dust, a nice, clean + lady. Ladies are not like boys. It might kill them very quickly to be + knocked down on a dusty road.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean to kill her.” + </p> + <p> + “You might have.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't, and—she—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “She spanked me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! That doesn't amount to anything,” sniffed Lily. + </p> + <p> + “It does if you are a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can't help it if you don't. It does.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't a boy be spanked when he's naughty, just as well as a girl, + I would like to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he's a boy.” + </p> + <p> + Lily looked at Johnny Trumbull. The great fact did remain. He had been + spanked, he had thrown his own aunt down in the dust. He had taken + advantage of her little-girl protection, but he was a boy. Lily did not + understand his why at all, but she bowed before it. However, that she + would not admit. She made a rapid change of base. “What,” said she, “are + you going to do next?” + </p> + <p> + Johnny stared at her. It was a puzzle. + </p> + <p> + “If,” said Lily, distinctly, “you are afraid to go home, if you think your + aunt will tell, I will let you get into Aunt Laura's baby-carriage again, + and I will wheel you a little way.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny would have liked at that moment to knock Lily down, as he had his + aunt Janet. Lily looked at him shrewdly. “Oh yes,” said she, “you can + knock me down in the dust there if you want to, and spoil my nice clean + dress. You will be a boy, just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “I will never marry you, anyway,” declared Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you afraid I'll tell on you and get you another spanking if you + don't?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell if you want to. I'd enough sight rather be spanked than marry you.” + </p> + <p> + A gleam of respect came into the little girl's wisely regarding blue eyes. + She, with the swiftness of her sex, recognized in forlorn little Johnny + the making of a man. “Oh, well,” said she, loftily, “I never was a + telltale, and, anyway, we are not grown up, and there will be my trousseau + to get, and a lot of other things to do first. I shall go to Europe before + I am married, too, and I might meet a boy much nicer than you on the + steamer.” + </p> + <p> + “Meet him if you want to.” + </p> + <p> + Lily looked at Johnny Trumbull with more than respect—with + admiration—but she kept guard over her little tongue. “Well, you can + leave that for the future,” said she with a grown-up air. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't going to leave it. It's settled for good and all now,” growled + Johnny. + </p> + <p> + To his immense surprise, Lily curved her white embroidered sleeve over her + face and began to weep. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter now?” asked Johnny, sulkily, after a minute. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are a real horrid boy,” sobbed Lily. + </p> + <p> + Lily looked like nothing but a very frilly, sweet, white flower. Johnny + could not see her face. There was nothing to be seen except that delicate + fluff of white, supported on dainty white-socked, white-slippered limbs. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “You are real cruel, when I—I saved your—li-fe,” wailed Lily. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” said Johnny, “maybe if I don't see any other girl I like better I + will marry you when I am grown up, but I won't if you don't stop that + howling.” + </p> + <p> + Lily stopped immediately. She peeped at him, a blue peep from under the + flopping, embroidered brim of her hat. “Are you in earnest?” She smiled + faintly. Her blue eyes, wet with tears, were lovely; so was her hesitating + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you don't act silly,” said Johnny. “Now you had better run home, + or your mother will wonder where that baby-carriage is.” + </p> + <p> + Lily walked away, smiling over her shoulder, the smile of the happily + subjugated. “I won't tell anybody, Johnny,” she called back in her + flute-like voice. + </p> + <p> + “Don't care if you do,” returned Johnny, looking at her with chin in the + air and shoulders square, and Lily wondered at his bravery. + </p> + <p> + But Johnny was not so brave and he did care. He knew that his best course + was an immediate return home, but he did not know what he might have to + face. He could not in the least understand why his aunt Janet had not told + at once. He was sure that she knew. Then he thought of a possible reason + for her silence; she might have feared his arrest at the hands of the + chief of police. Johnny quailed. He knew his aunt Janet to be rather a + brave sort of woman. If she had fears, she must have had reason for them. + He might even now be arrested. Suppose Lily did tell. He had a theory that + girls usually told. He began to speculate concerning the horrors of + prison. Of course he would not be executed, since his aunt was obviously + very far from being killed, but he might be imprisoned for a long term. + </p> + <p> + Johnny went home. He did not kick the dust any more. He walked very + steadily and staidly. When he came in sight of the old Colonial mansion, + with its massive veranda pillars, he felt chilly. However, he went on. He + passed around to the south door and entered and smelled shortcake. It + would have smelled delicious had he not had so much on his mind. He looked + through the hall, and had a glimpse of his uncle Jonathan in the study, + writing. At the right of the door was his father's office. The door of + that was open, and Johnny saw his father pouring things from bottles. He + did not look at Johnny. His mother crossed the hall. She had on a long + white apron, which she wore when making her famous cream shortcakes. She + saw Johnny, but merely observed, “Go and wash your face and hands, Johnny; + it is nearly supper-time.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny went up-stairs. At the upper landing he found his aunt Janet + waiting for him. “Come here,” she whispered, and Johnny followed her, + trembling, into her own room. It was a large room, rather crowded with + heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Aunt Janet had freed herself from dust and + was arrayed in a purple silk gown. Her hair was looped loosely on either + side of her long face. She was a handsome woman, after a certain type. + </p> + <p> + “Stand here, Johnny,” said she. She had closed the door, and Johnny was + stationed before her. She did not seem in the least injured nor the worse + for her experience. On the contrary, there was a bright-red flush on her + cheeks, and her eyes shone as Johnny had never seen them. She looked + eagerly at Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do that?” she said, but there was no anger in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot,” began Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Forgot what?” Her voice was strained with eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “That you were not another boy,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Aunt Janet. “No, you need not tell me, because if you did + it might be my duty to inform your parents. I know there is no need of + your telling. You MUST be in the habit of fighting with the other boys.” + </p> + <p> + “Except the little ones,” admitted Johnny. + </p> + <p> + To Johnny's wild astonishment, Aunt Janet seized him by the shoulders and + looked him in the eyes with a look of adoration and immense approval. + “Thank goodness,” said she, “at last there is going to be a fighter in the + Trumbull family. Your uncle would never fight, and your father would not. + Your grandfather would. Your uncle and your father are good men, though; + you must try to be like them, Johnny.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” replied Johnny, bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “I think they would be called better men than your grandfather and my + father,” said Aunt Janet. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is time for you to have your grandfather's watch,” said Aunt + Janet. “I think you are man enough to take care of it.” Aunt Janet had all + the time been holding a black leather case. Now she opened it, and Johnny + saw the great gold watch which he had seen many times before and had + always understood was to be his some day, when he was a man. “Here,” said + Aunt Janet. “Take good care of it. You must try to be as good as your + uncle and father, but you must remember one thing—you will wear a + watch which belonged to a man who never allowed other men to crowd him out + of the way he elected to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Johnny. He took the watch. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” inquired his aunt, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right. I thought you had forgotten your manners. Your grandfather + never did.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry. Aunt Janet,” muttered Johnny, “that I—” + </p> + <p> + “You need never say anything about that,” his aunt returned, quickly. “I + did not see who you were at first. You are too old to be spanked by a + woman, but you ought to be whipped by a man, and I wish your grandfather + were alive to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Johnny. He looked at her bravely. “He could if he + wanted to,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Janet smiled at him proudly. “Of course,” said she, “a boy like you + never gets the worst of it fighting with other boys.” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Janet smiled again. “Now run and wash your face and hands,” said she; + “you must not keep supper waiting. Your mother has a paper to write for + her club, and I have promised to help her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Johnny. He walked out, carrying the great gold + timepiece, bewildered, embarrassed, modest beneath his honors, but little + cock of the walk, whether he would or no, for reasons entirely and forever + beyond his ken. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JOHNNY-IN-THE-WOODS + </h2> + <p> + JOHNNY TRUMBULL, he who had demonstrated his claim to be Cock of the Walk + by a most impious hand-to-hand fight with his own aunt, Miss Janet + Trumbull, in which he had been decisively victorious, and won his spurs, + consisting of his late grandfather's immense, solemnly ticking watch, was + to take a new path of action. Johnny suddenly developed the prominent + Trumbull trait, but in his case it was inverted. Johnny, as became a boy + of his race, took an excursion into the past, but instead of applying the + present to the past, as was the tendency of the other Trumbulls, he + forcibly applied the past to the present. He fairly plastered the past + over the exigencies of his day and generation like a penetrating poultice + of mustard, and the results were peculiar. + </p> + <p> + Johnny, being bidden of a rainy day during the midsummer vacation to + remain in the house, to keep quiet, read a book, and be a good boy, + obeyed, but his obedience was of a doubtful measure of wisdom. + </p> + <p> + Johnny got a book out of his uncle Jonathan Trumbull's dark little library + while Jonathan was walking sedately to the post-office, holding his + dripping umbrella at a wonderful slant of exactness, without regard to the + wind, thereby getting the soft drive of the rain full in his face, which + became, as it were, bedewed with tears, entirely outside any cause of his + own emotions. + </p> + <p> + Johnny probably got the only book of an antiorthodox trend in his uncle's + library. He found tucked away in a snug corner an ancient collection of + Border Ballads, and he read therein of many unmoral romances and pretty + fancies, which, since he was a small boy, held little meaning for him, or + charm, beyond a delight in the swing of the rhythm, for Johnny had a + feeling for music. It was when he read of Robin Hood, the bold Robin Hood, + with his dubious ethics but his certain and unquenchable interest, that + Johnny Trumbull became intent. He had the volume in his own room, being + somewhat doubtful as to whether it might be of the sort included in the + good-boy role. He sat beside a rainwashed window, which commanded a view + of the wide field between the Trumbull mansion and Jim Simmons's house, + and he read about Robin Hood and his Greenwood adventures, his forcible + setting the wrong right; and for the first time his imagination awoke, and + his ambition. Johnny Trumbull, hitherto hero of nothing except little + material fistfights, wished now to become a hero of true romance. + </p> + <p> + In fact, Johnny considered seriously the possibility of reincarnating, in + his own person, Robin Hood. He eyed the wide green field dreamily through + his rain-blurred window. It was a pretty field, waving with feathery + grasses and starred with daisies and buttercups, and it was very fortunate + that it happened to be so wide. Jim Simmons's house was not a desirable + feature of the landscape, and looked much better several acres away. It + was a neglected, squalid structure, and considered a disgrace to the whole + village. Jim was also a disgrace, and an unsolved problem. He owned that + house, and somehow contrived to pay the taxes thereon. He also lived and + throve in bodily health in spite of evil ways, and his children were many. + There seemed no way to dispose finally of Jim Simmons and his house except + by murder and arson, and the village was a peaceful one, and such measures + were entirely too strenuous. + </p> + <p> + Presently Johnny, staring dreamily out of his window, saw approaching a + rusty-black umbrella held at precisely the wrong angle in respect of the + storm, but held with the unvarying stiffness with which a soldier might + hold a bayonet, and knew it for his uncle Jonathan's umbrella. Soon he + beheld also his uncle's serious, rain-drenched face and his long ambling + body and legs. Jonathan was coming home from the post-office, whither he + repaired every morning. He never got a letter, never anything except + religious newspapers, but the visit to the post-office was part of his + daily routine. Rain or shine, Jonathan Trumbull went for the morning mail, + and gained thereby a queer negative enjoyment of a perfectly useless duty + performed. Johnny watched his uncle draw near to the house, and cruelly + reflected how unlike Robin Hood he must be. He even wondered if his uncle + could possibly have read Robin Hood and still show absolutely no result in + his own personal appearance. He knew that he, Johnny, could not walk to + the post-office and back, even with the drawback of a dripping old + umbrella instead of a bow and arrow, without looking a bit like Robin + Hood, especially when fresh from reading about him. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly something distracted his thoughts from Uncle Jonathan. The + long, feathery grass in the field moved with a motion distinct from that + caused by the wind and rain. Johnny saw a tiger-striped back emerge, + covering long leaps of terror. Johnny knew the creature for a cat afraid + of Uncle Jonathan. Then he saw the grass move behind the first leaping, + striped back, and he knew there were more cats afraid of Uncle Jonathan. + There were even motions caused by unseen things, and he reasoned, “Kittens + afraid of Uncle Jonathan.” Then Johnny reflected with a great glow of + indignation that the Simmonses kept an outrageous number of half-starved + cats and kittens, besides a quota of children popularly supposed to be + none too well nourished, let alone properly clothed. Then it was that + Johnny Trumbull's active, firm imagination slapped the past of old romance + like a most thorough mustard poultice over the present. There could be no + Lincoln Green, no following of brave outlaws (that is, in the strictest + sense), no bows and arrows, no sojourning under greenwood trees and the + rest, but something he could, and would, do and be. That rainy day when + Johnny Trumbull was a good boy, and stayed in the house, and read a book, + marked an epoch. + </p> + <p> + That night when Johnny went into his aunt Janet's room she looked + curiously at his face, which seemed a little strange to her. Johnny, since + he had come into possession of his grandfather's watch, went every night, + on his way to bed, to his aunt's room for the purpose of winding up that + ancient timepiece, Janet having a firm impression that it might not be + done properly unless under her supervision. Johnny stood before his aunt + and wound up the watch with its ponderous key, and she watched him. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing all day, John?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Stayed in the house and—read.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you read, John?” + </p> + <p> + “A book.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to be impertinent, John?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am,” replied Johnny, and with perfect truth. He had not the + slightest idea of the title of the book. + </p> + <p> + “What was the book?” + </p> + <p> + “A poetry book.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you find it?” + </p> + <p> + “In Uncle Jonathan's library.” + </p> + <p> + “Poetry In Uncle Jonathan's library?” said Janet, in a mystified way. She + had a general impression of Jonathan's library as of century-old + preserves, altogether dried up and quite indistinguishable one from the + other except by labels. Poetry she could not imagine as being there at + all. Finally she thought of the early Victorians, and Spenser and Chaucer. + The library might include them, but she had an idea that Spenser and + Chaucer were not fit reading for a little boy. However, as she remembered + Spenser and Chaucer, she doubted if Johnny could understand much of them. + Probably he had gotten hold of an early Victorian, and she looked rather + contemptuous. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think much of a boy like you reading poetry,” said Janet. + “Couldn't you find anything else to read?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am.” That also was truth. Johnny, before exploring his uncle's + theological library, had peered at his father's old medical books and his + mother's bookcases, which contained quite terrifying uniform editions of + standard things written by women. + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose there ARE many books written for boys,” said Aunt Janet, + reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am,” said Johnny. He finished winding the watch, and gave, as was + the custom, the key to Aunt Janet, lest he lose it. + </p> + <p> + “I will see if I cannot find some books of travels for you, John,” said + Janet. “I think travels would be good reading for a boy. Good night, + John.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night. Aunt Janet,” replied Johnny. His aunt never kissed him good + night, which was one reason why he liked her. + </p> + <p> + On his way to bed he had to pass his mother's room, whose door stood open. + She was busy writing at her desk. She glanced at Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to bed?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny entered the room and let his mother kiss his forehead, parting his + curly hair to do so. He loved his mother, but did not care at all to have + her kiss him. He did not object, because he thought she liked to do it, + and she was a woman, and it was a very little thing in which he could + oblige her. + </p> + <p> + “Were you a good boy, and did you find a good book to read?” asked she. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the book?” Cora Trumbull inquired, absently, writing as she + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Poetry.” + </p> + <p> + Cora laughed. “Poetry is odd for a boy,” said she. “You should have read a + book of travels or history. Good night, Johnny.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, mother.” + </p> + <p> + Then Johnny met his father, smelling strongly of medicines, coming up from + his study. But his father did not see him. And Johnny went to bed, having + imbibed from that old tale of Robin Hood more of history and more + knowledge of excursions into realms of old romance than his elders had + ever known during much longer lives than his. + </p> + <p> + Johnny confided in nobody at first. His feeling nearly led him astray in + the matter of Lily Jennings; he thought of her, for one sentimental + minute, as Robin Hood's Maid Marion. Then he dismissed the idea + peremptorily. Lily Jennings would simply laugh. He knew her. Moreover, she + was a girl, and not to be trusted. Johnny felt the need of another boy who + would be a kindred spirit; he wished for more than one boy. He wished for + a following of heroic and lawless souls, even as Robin Hood's. But he + could think of nobody, after considerable study, except one boy, younger + than himself. He was a beautiful little boy, whose mother had never + allowed him to have his golden curls cut, although he had been in trousers + for quite a while. However, the trousers were foolish, being + knickerbockers, and accompanied by low socks, which revealed pretty, + dimpled, babyish legs. The boy's name was Arnold Carruth, and that was + against him, as being long, and his mother firm about allowing no + nickname. Nicknames in any case were not allowed in the very exclusive + private school which Johnny attended. + </p> + <p> + Arnold Carruth, in spite of his being such a beautiful little boy, would + have had no standing at all in the school as far as popularity was + concerned had it not been for a strain of mischief which triumphed over + curls, socks, and pink cheeks and a much-kissed rosebud of a mouth. Arnold + Carruth, as one of the teachers permitted herself to state when relaxed in + the bosom of her own family, was “as choke-full of mischief as a pod of + peas. And the worst of it all is,” quoth the teacher, Miss Agnes Rector, + who was a pretty young girl, with a hidden sympathy for mischief herself—“the + worst of it is, that child looks so like a cherub on a rosy cloud that + even if he should be caught nobody would believe it. They would be much + more likely to accuse poor little Andrew Jackson Green, because he has a + snub nose and is a bit cross-eyed, and I never knew that poor child to do + anything except obey rules and learn his lessons. He is almost too good. + And another worst of it is, nobody can help loving that little imp of a + Carruth boy, mischief and all. I believe the scamp knows it and takes + advantage of it.” + </p> + <p> + It is quite possible that Arnold Carruth did profit unworthily by his + beauty and engagingness, albeit without calculation. He was so young, it + was monstrous to believe him capable of calculation, of deliberate trading + upon his assets of birth and beauty and fascination. However, Johnny + Trumbull, who was wide awake and a year older, was alive to the situation. + He told Arnold Carruth, and Arnold Carruth only, about Robin Hood and his + great scheme. + </p> + <p> + “You can help,” said this wise Johnny; “you can be in it, because nobody + thinks you can be in anything, on account of your wearing curls.” + </p> + <p> + Arnold Carruth flushed and gave an angry tug at one golden curl which the + wind blew over a shoulder. The two boys were in a secluded corner of + Madame's lawn, behind a clump of Japanese cedars, during an intermission. + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it because I wear curls,” declared Arnold with angry shame. + </p> + <p> + “Who said you could? No need of getting mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma and Aunt Flora and grandmamma won't let me have these old curls cut + off,” said Arnold. “You needn't think I want to have curls like a girl, + Johnny Trumbull.” + </p> + <p> + “Who said you did? And I know you don't like to wear those short + stockings, either.” + </p> + <p> + “Like to!” Arnold gave a spiteful kick, first of one half-bared, dimpled + leg, then of the other. + </p> + <p> + “First thing you know I'll steal mamma's or Aunt Flora's stockings and + throw these in the furnace-I will. Do you s'pose a feller wants to wear + these baby things? I guess not. Women are awful queer, Johnny Trumbull. My + mamma and my aunt Flora are awful nice, but they are queer about some + things.” + </p> + <p> + “Most women are queer,” agreed Johnny, “but my aunt Janet isn't as queer + as some. Rather guess if she saw me with curls like a little girl she'd + cut 'em off herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Wish she was my aunt,” said Arnold Carruth with a sigh. “A feller needs a + woman like that till he's grown up. Do you s'pose she'd cut off my curls + if I was to go to your house, Johnny?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid she wouldn't think it was right unless your mother said she + might. She has to be real careful about doing right, because my uncle + Jonathan used to preach, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Arnold Carruth grinned savagely, as if he endured pain. “Well, I s'pose + I'll have to stand the curls and little baby stockings awhile longer,” + said he. “What was it you were going to tell me, Johnny?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell you because I know you aren't too good, if you do wear + curls and little stockings.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I ain't too good,” declared Arnold Carruth, proudly; “I ain't—HONEST, + Johnny.” + </p> + <p> + “That's why I'm going to tell you. But if you tell any of the other boys—or + girls—” + </p> + <p> + “Tell girls!” sniffed Arnold. + </p> + <p> + “If you tell anybody, I'll lick you.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess I ain't afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess you'd be afraid to go home after you'd been licked.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess my mamma would give it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Run home and tell mamma you'd been whopped, would you, then?” + </p> + <p> + Little Arnold, beautiful baby boy, straightened himself with a quick + remembrance that he was born a man. “You know I wouldn't tell, Johnny + Trumbull.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess you wouldn't. Well, here it is—” Johnny spoke in emphatic + whispers, Arnold's curly head close to his mouth: “There are a good many + things in this town have got to be set right,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + Little Arnold stared at him. Then fire shone in his lovely blue eyes under + the golden shadow of his curls, a fire which had shone in the eyes of some + ancestors of his, for there was good fighting blood in the Carruth family, + as well as in the Trumbull, although this small descendant did go about + curled and kissed and barelegged. + </p> + <p> + “How'll we begin?” said Arnold, in a strenuous whisper. + </p> + <p> + “We've got to begin right away with Jim Simmons's cats and kittens.” + </p> + <p> + “With Jim Simmons's cats and kittens?” repeated Arnold. + </p> + <p> + “That was what I said, exactly. We've got to begin right there. It is an + awful little beginning, but I can't think of anything else. If you can, + I'm willing to listen.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I can't,” admitted Arnold, helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course we can't go around taking away money from rich people and + giving it to poor folks. One reason is, most of the poor folks in this + town are lazy, and don't get money because they don't want to work for it. + And when they are not lazy, they drink. If we gave rich people's money to + poor folks like that, we shouldn't do a mite of good. The rich folks would + be poor, and the poor folks wouldn't stay rich; they would be lazier, and + get more drink. I don't see any sense in doing things like that in this + town. There are a few poor folks I have been thinking we might take some + money for and do good, but not many.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” inquired Arnold Carruth, in awed tones. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is poor old Mrs. Sam Little. She's awful poor. Folks help + her, I know, but she can't be real pleased being helped. She'd rather have + the money herself. I have been wondering if we couldn't get some of your + father's money away and give it to her, for one.” + </p> + <p> + “Get away papa's money!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to tell me you are as stingy as that, Arnold Carruth?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess papa wouldn't like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he wouldn't. But that is not the point. It is not what your + father would like; it is what that poor old lady would like.” + </p> + <p> + It was too much for Arnold. He gaped at Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “If you are going to be mean and stingy, we may as well stop before we + begin,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + Then Arnold Carruth recovered himself. “Old Mr. Webster Payne is awful + poor,” said he. “We might take some of your father's money and give it to + him.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny snorted, fairly snorted. “If,” said he, “you think my father keeps + his money where we can get it, you are mistaken, Arnold Carruth. My + father's money is all in papers that are not worth much now and that he + has to keep in the bank till they are.” + </p> + <p> + Arnold smiled hopefully. “Guess that's the way my papa keeps HIS money.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the way most rich people are mean enough to,” said Johnny, severely. + “I don't care if it's your father or mine, it's mean. And that's why we've + got to begin with Jim Simmons's cats and kittens.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to give old Mrs. Sam Little cats?” inquired Arnold. + </p> + <p> + Johnny sniffed. “Don't be silly,” said he. “Though I do think a nice cat + with a few kittens might cheer her up a little, and we could steal enough + milk, by getting up early and tagging after the milkman, to feed them. But + I wasn't thinking of giving her or old Mr. Payne cats and kittens. I + wasn't thinking of folks; I was thinking of all those poor cats and + kittens that Mr. Jim Simmons has and doesn't half feed, and that have to + go hunting around folks' back doors in the rain, when cats hate water, + too, and pick things up that must be bad for their stomachs, when they + ought to have their milk regularly in nice, clean saucers. No, Arnold + Carruth, what we have got to do is to steal Mr. Jim Simmons's cats and get + them in nice homes where they can earn their living catching mice and be + well cared for.” + </p> + <p> + “Steal cats?” said Arnold. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, steal cats, in order to do right,” said Johnny Trumbull, and his + expression was heroic, even exalted. + </p> + <p> + It was then that a sweet treble, faltering yet exultant, rang in their + ears. + </p> + <p> + “If,” said the treble voice, “you are going to steal dear little kitty + cats and get nice homes for them, I'm going to help.” + </p> + <p> + The voice belonged to Lily Jennings, who had stood on the other side of + the Japanese cedars and heard every word. + </p> + <p> + Both boys started in righteous wrath, but Arnold Carruth was the angrier + of the two. “Mean little cat yourself, listening,” said he. His curls + seemed to rise like a crest of rage. + </p> + <p> + Johnny, remembering some things, was not so outspoken. “You hadn't any + right to listen, Lily Jennings,” he said, with masculine severity. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't start to listen,” said Lily. “I was looking for cones on these + trees. Miss Parmalee wanted us to bring some object of nature into the + class, and I wondered whether I could find a queer Japanese cone on one of + these trees, and then I heard you boys talking, and I couldn't help + listening. You spoke very loud, and I couldn't give up looking for that + cone. I couldn't find any, and I heard all about the Simmonses' cats, and + I know lots of other cats that haven't got good homes, and—I am + going to be in it.” + </p> + <p> + “You AIN'T,” declared Arnold Carruth. + </p> + <p> + “We can't have girls in it,” said Johnny the mindful, more politely. + </p> + <p> + “You've got to have me. You had better have me, Johnny Trumbull,” she + added with meaning. + </p> + <p> + Johnny flinched. It was a species of blackmail, but what could he do? + Suppose Lily told how she had hidden him—him, Johnny Trumbull, the + champion of the school—in that empty baby-carriage! He would have + more to contend against than Arnold Carruth with socks and curls. He did + not think Lily would tell. Somehow Lily, although a little, befrilled + girl, gave an impression of having a knowledge of a square deal almost as + much as a boy would; but what boy could tell with a certainty what such an + uncertain creature as a girl might or might not do? Moreover, Johnny had a + weakness, a hidden, Spartanly hidden, weakness for Lily. He rather wished + to have her act as partner in his great enterprise. He therefore gruffly + assented. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said, “you can be in it. But just you look out. You'll see + what happens if you tell.” + </p> + <p> + “She can't be in it; she's nothing but a girl,” said Arnold Carruth, + fiercely. + </p> + <p> + Lily Jennings lifted her chin and surveyed him with queenly scorn. “And + what are you?” said she. “A little boy with curls and baby socks.” + </p> + <p> + Arnold colored with shame and fury, and subsided. “Mind you don't tell,” + he said, taking Johnny's cue. + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't tell,” replied Lily, with majesty. “But you'll tell yourselves + if you talk one side of trees without looking on the other.” + </p> + <p> + There was then only a few moments before Madame's musical Japanese gong + which announced the close of intermission should sound, but three + determined souls in conspiracy can accomplish much in a few moments. The + first move was planned in detail before that gong sounded, and the two + boys raced to the house, and Lily followed, carrying a toadstool, which + she had hurriedly caught up from the lawn for her object of nature to be + taken into class. + </p> + <p> + It was a poisonous toadstool, and Lily was quite a heroine in the class. + That fact doubtless gave her a more dauntless air when, after school, the + two boys caught up with her walking gracefully down the road, flirting her + skirts and now and then giving her head a toss, which made her fluff of + hair fly into a golden foam under her daisy-trimmed straw hat. + </p> + <p> + “To-night,” Johnny whispered, as he sped past. + </p> + <p> + “At half past nine, between your house and the Simmonses',” replied Lily, + without even looking at him. She was a past-mistress of dissimulation. + </p> + <p> + Lily's mother had guests at dinner that night, and the guests remarked + sometimes, within the little girl's hearing, what a darling she was. + </p> + <p> + “She never gives me a second's anxiety,” Lily's mother whispered to a lady + beside her. “You cannot imagine what a perfectly good, dependable child + she is.” + </p> + <p> + “Now my Christina is a good child in the grain,” said the lady, “but she + is full of mischief. I never can tell what Christina will do next.” + </p> + <p> + “I can always tell,” said Lily's mother, in a voice of maternal triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Now only the other night, when I thought Christina was in bed, that + absurd child got up and dressed and ran over to see her aunt Bella. Tom + came home with her, and of course there was nothing very bad about it. + Christina was very bright; she said, 'Mother, you never told me I must not + get up and go to see Aunt Bella,' which was, of course, true. I could not + gainsay that.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot,” said Lily's mother, “imagine my Lily's doing such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + If Lily had heard that last speech of her mother's, whom she dearly loved, + she might have wavered. That pathetic trust in herself might have caused + her to justify it. But she had finished her dinner and had been excused, + and was undressing for bed, with the firm determination to rise betimes + and dress and join Johnny Trumbull and Arnold Carruth. Johnny had the + easiest time of them all. He simply had to bid his aunt Janet good night + and have the watch wound, and take a fleeting glimpse of his mother at her + desk and his father in his office, and go whistling to his room, and sit + in the summer darkness and wait until the time came. + </p> + <p> + Arnold Carruth had the hardest struggle. His mother had an old school + friend visiting her, and Arnold, very much dressed up, with his curls + falling in a shining fleece upon a real lace collar, had to be shown off + and show off. He had to play one little piece which he had learned upon + the piano. He had to recite a little poem. He had to be asked how old he + was, and if he liked to go to school, and how many teachers he had, and if + he loved them, and if he loved his little mates, and which of them he + loved best; and he had to be asked if he loved his aunt Dorothy, who was + the school friend and not his aunt at all, and would he not like to come + and live with her, because she had not any dear little boy; and he was + obliged to submit to having his curls twisted around feminine fingers, and + to being kissed and hugged, and a whole chapter of ordeals, before he was + finally in bed, with his mother's kiss moist upon his lips, and free to + assert himself. + </p> + <p> + That night Arnold Carruth realized himself as having an actual horror of + his helpless state of pampered childhood. The man stirred in the soul of + the boy, and it was a little rebel with sulky pout of lips and frown of + childish brows who stole out of bed, got into some queer clothes, and + crept down the back stairs. He heard his aunt Dorothy, who was not his + aunt, singing an Italian song in the parlor, he heard the clink of silver + and china from the butler's pantry, where the maids were washing the + dinner dishes. He smelt his father's cigar, and he gave a little leap of + joy on the grass of the lawn. At last he was out at night alone, and—he + wore long stockings! That noon he had secreted a pair of his mother's + toward that end. When he came home to luncheon he pulled them out of the + darning-bag, which he had spied through a closet door that had been left + ajar. One of the stockings was green silk, and the other was black, and + both had holes in them, but all that mattered was the length. Arnold wore + also his father's riding-breeches, which came over his shoes and which + were enormously large, and one of his father's silk shirts. He had + resolved to dress consistently for such a great occasion. His clothes + hampered him, but he felt happy as he sped clumsily down the road. + </p> + <p> + However, both Johnny Trumbull and Lily Jennings, who were waiting for him + at the rendezvous, were startled by his appearance. Both began to run, + Johnny pulling Lily after him by the hand, but Arnold's cautious hallo + arrested them. Johnny and Lily returned slowly, peering through the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + “It's me,” said Arnold, with gay disregard of grammar. + </p> + <p> + “You looked,” said Lily, “like a real fat old man. What HAVE you got on, + Arnold Carruth?” + </p> + <p> + Arnold slouched before his companions, ridiculous but triumphant. He + hitched up a leg of the riding-breeches and displayed a long, green silk + stocking. Both Johnny and Lily doubled up with laughter. + </p> + <p> + “What you laughing at?” inquired Arnold, crossly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing at all,” said Lily. “Only you do look like a scarecrow broken + loose. Doesn't he, Johnny?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going home,” stated Arnold with dignity. He turned, but Johnny + caught him in his little iron grip. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shucks, Arnold Carruth!” said he. “Don't be a baby. Come on.” And + Arnold Carruth with difficulty came on. + </p> + <p> + People in the village, as a rule, retired early. Many lights were out when + the affair began, many went out while it was in progress. All three of the + band steered as clear of lighted houses as possible, and dodged behind + trees and hedges when shadowy figures appeared on the road or + carriage-wheels were heard in the distance. At their special destination + they were sure to be entirely safe. Old Mr. Peter Van Ness always retired + very early. To be sure, he did not go to sleep until late, and read in + bed, but his room was in the rear of the house on the second floor, and + all the windows, besides, were dark. Mr. Peter Van Ness was a very wealthy + elderly gentleman, very benevolent. He had given the village a beautiful + stone church with memorial windows, a soldiers' monument, a park, and a + home for aged couples, called “The Van Ness Home.” Mr. Van Ness lived + alone with the exception of a housekeeper and a number of old, very + well-disciplined servants. The servants always retired early, and Mr. Van + Ness required the house to be quiet for his late reading. He was a very + studious old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + To the Van Ness house, set back from the street in the midst of a + well-kept lawn, the three repaired, but not as noiselessly as they could + have wished. In fact, a light flared in an up-stairs window, which was + wide open, and one woman's voice was heard in conclave with another. + </p> + <p> + “I should think,” said the first, “that the lawn was full of cats. Did you + ever hear such a mewing, Jane?” + </p> + <p> + That was the housekeeper's voice. The three, each of whom carried a + squirming burlap potato-bag from the Trumbull cellar, stood close to a + clump of stately pines full of windy songs, and trembled. + </p> + <p> + “It do sound like cats, ma'am,” said another voice, which was Jane's, the + maid, who had brought Mrs. Meeks, the housekeeper, a cup of hot water and + peppermint, because her dinner had disagreed with her. + </p> + <p> + “Just listen,” said Mrs. Meeks. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am, I should think there was hundreds of cats and little + kittens.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so afraid Mr. Van Ness will be disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “You might go out and look, Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ma'am, they might be burglars!” + </p> + <p> + “How can they be burglars when they are cats?” demanded Mrs. Meeks, + testily. + </p> + <p> + Arnold Carruth snickered, and Johnny on one side, and Lily on the other, + prodded him with an elbow. They were close under the window. + </p> + <p> + “Burglars is up to all sorts of queer tricks, ma'am,” said Jane. “They may + mew like cats to tell one another what door to go in.” + </p> + <p> + “Jane, you talk like an idiot,” said Mrs. Meeks. “Burglars talking like + cats! Who ever heard of such a thing? It sounds right under that window. + Open my closet door and get those heavy old shoes and throw them out.” + </p> + <p> + It was an awful moment. The three dared not move. The cats and kittens in + the bags—not so many, after all—seemed to have turned into + multiplication-tables. They were positively alarming in their + determination to get out, their wrath with one another, and their + vociferous discontent with the whole situation. + </p> + <p> + “I can't hold my bag much longer,” said poor little Arnold Carruth. + </p> + <p> + “Hush up, cry-baby!” whispered Lily, fiercely, in spite of a clawing paw + emerging from her own bag and threatening her bare arm. + </p> + <p> + Then came the shoes. One struck Arnold squarely on the shoulder, nearly + knocking him down and making him lose hold of his bag. The other struck + Lily's bag, and conditions became worse; but she held on despite a + scratch. Lily had pluck. + </p> + <p> + Then Jane's voice sounded very near, as she leaned out of the window. “I + guess they have went, ma'am,” said she. “I seen something run.” + </p> + <p> + “I can hear them,” said Mrs. Meeks, querulously. + </p> + <p> + “I seen them run,” persisted Jane, who was tired and wished to be gone. + </p> + <p> + “Well, close that window, anyway, for I know I hear them, even if they + have gone,” said Mrs. Meeks. The three heard with relief the window + slammed down. + </p> + <p> + The light flashed out, and simultaneously Lily Jennings and Johnny + Trumbull turned indignantly upon Arnold Carruth. + </p> + <p> + “There, you have gone and let all those poor cats go,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “And spoilt everything,” said Lily. + </p> + <p> + Arnold rubbed his shoulder. “You would have let go if you had been hit + right on the shoulder by a great shoe,” said he, rather loudly. + </p> + <p> + “Hush up!” said Lily. “I wouldn't have let my cats go if I had been killed + by a shoe; so there.” + </p> + <p> + “Serves us right for taking a boy with curls,” said Johnny Trumbull. + </p> + <p> + But he spoke unadvisedly. Arnold Carruth was no match whatever for Johnny + Trumbull, and had never been allowed the honor of a combat with him; but + surprise takes even a great champion at a disadvantage. Arnold turned upon + Johnny like a flash, out shot a little white fist, up struck a dimpled leg + clad in cloth and leather, and down sat Johnny Trumbull; and, worse, open + flew his bag, and there was a yowling exodus. + </p> + <p> + “There go your cats, too, Johnny Trumbull,” said Lily, in a perfectly calm + whisper. At that moment both boys, victor and vanquished, felt a + simultaneous throb of masculine wrath at Lily. Who was she to gloat over + the misfortunes of men? But retribution came swiftly to Lily. That + viciously clawing little paw shot out farther, and there was a limit to + Spartanism in a little girl born so far from that heroic land. Lily let go + of her bag and with difficulty stifled a shriek of pain. + </p> + <p> + “Whose cats are gone now?” demanded Johnny, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, whose cats are gone now?” said Arnold. + </p> + <p> + Then Johnny promptly turned upon him and knocked him down and sat on him. + </p> + <p> + Lily looked at them, standing, a stately little figure in the darkness. “I + am going home,” said she. “My mother does not allow me to go with fighting + boys.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny rose, and so did Arnold, whimpering slightly. His shoulder ached + considerably. + </p> + <p> + “He knocked me down,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + Even as he whimpered and as he suffered, Arnold felt a thrill of triumph. + “Always knew I could if I had a chance,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't if I had been expecting it,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Folks get knocked down when they ain't expecting it most of the time,” + declared Arnold, with more philosophy than he realized. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it makes much difference about the knocking down,” said + Lily. “All those poor cats and kittens that we were going to give a good + home, where they wouldn't be starved, have got away, and they will run + straight back to Mr. Jim Simmons's.” + </p> + <p> + “If they haven't any more sense than to run back to a place where they + don't get enough to eat and are kicked about by a lot of children, let + them run,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” said Arnold. “I never did see what we were doing such a thing + for, anyway—stealing Mr. Simmons's cats and giving them to Mr. Van + Ness.” + </p> + <p> + It was the girl alone who stood by her guns of righteousness. “I saw and I + see,” she declared, with dangerously loud emphasis. “It was only our duty + to try to rescue poor helpless animals who don't know any better than to + stay where they are badly treated. And Mr. Van Ness has so much money he + doesn't know what to do with it; he would have been real pleased to give + those cats a home and buy milk and liver for them. But it's all spoiled + now. I will never undertake to do good again, with a lot of boys in the + way, as long as I live; so there!” Lily turned about. + </p> + <p> + “Going to tell your mother!” said Johnny, with scorn which veiled anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm NOT. I don't tell tales.” + </p> + <p> + Lily marched off, and in her wake went Johnny and Arnold, two poor little + disillusioned would-be knights of old romance in a wretchedly commonplace + future, not far enough from their horizons for any glamour. + </p> + <p> + They went home, and of the three Johnny Trumbull was the only one who was + discovered. For him his aunt Janet lay in wait and forced a confession. + She listened grimly, but her eyes twinkled. + </p> + <p> + “You have learned to fight, John Trumbull,” said she, when he had + finished. “Now the very next thing you have to learn, and make yourself + worthy of your grandfather Trumbull, is not to be a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunt Janet,” said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + The next noon, when he came home from school, old Maria, who had been with + the family ever since he could remember and long before, called him into + the kitchen. There, greedily lapping milk from a saucer, were two very + lean, tall kittens. + </p> + <p> + “See those nice little tommy-cats,” said Maria, beaming upon Johnny, whom + she loved and whom she sometimes fancied deprived of boyish joys. “Your + aunt Janet sent me over to the Simmonses' for them this morning. They are + overrun with cats—such poor, shiftless folks always be—and you + can have them. We shall have to watch for a little while till they get + wonted, so they won't run home.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny gazed at the kittens, fast distending with the new milk, and felt + presumably much as dear Robin Hood may have felt after one of his + successful raids in the fair, poetic past. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty, ain't they?” said Maria. “They have drank up a whole saucer of + milk. 'Most starved. I s'pose.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny gathered up the two forlorn kittens and sat down in a kitchen + chair, with one on each shoulder, hard, boyish cheeks pressed against + furry, purring sides, and the little fighting Cock of the Walk felt his + heart glad and tender with the love of the strong for the weak. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DANIEL AND LITTLE DAN'L + </h2> + <p> + THE Wise homestead dated back more than a century, yet it had nothing + imposing about it except its site. It was a simple, glaringly white + cottage. There was a center front door with two windows on each side; + there was a low slant of roof, pierced by unpicturesque dormers. On the + left of the house was an ell, which had formerly been used as a + shoemaker's shop, but now served as a kitchen. In the low attic of the ell + was stored the shoemaker's bench, whereon David Wise's grandfather had sat + for nearly eighty years of working days; after him his eldest son, + Daniel's father, had occupied the same hollow seat of patient toil. Daniel + had sat there for twenty-odd years, then had suddenly realized both the + lack of necessity and the lack of customers, since the great shoe-plant + had been built down in the village. Then Daniel had retired—although + he did not use that expression. Daniel said to his friends and his niece + Dora that he had “quit work.” But he told himself, without the least + bitterness, that work had quit him. + </p> + <p> + After Daniel had retired, his one physiological peculiarity assumed + enormous proportions. It had always been with him, but steady work had + held it, to a great extent, at bay. Daniel was a moral coward before + physical conditions. He was as one who suffers, not so much from agony of + the flesh as from agony of the mind induced thereby. Daniel was a coward + before one of the simplest, most inevitable happenings of earthly life. He + was a coward before summer heat. All winter he dreaded summer. Summer + poisoned the spring for him. Only during the autumn did he experience + anything of peace. Summer was then over, and between him and another + summer stretched the blessed perspective of winter. Then Daniel Wise drew + a long breath and looked about him, and spelled out the beauty of the + earth in his simple primer of understanding. Daniel had in his garden + behind the house a prolific grape-vine. He ate the grapes, full of the + savor of the dead summer, with the gusto of a poet who can at last enjoy + triumph over his enemy. + </p> + <p> + Possibly it was the vein of poetry in Daniel which made him a coward—which + made him so vulnerable. During the autumn he reveled in the tints of the + landscape which his sitting-room windows commanded. There were many maples + and oaks. Day by day the roofs of the houses in the village became more + evident, as the maples shed their crimson and gold and purple rags of + summer. The oaks remained, great shaggy masses of dark gold and burning + russet; later they took on soft hues, making clearer the blue firmament + between the boughs. Daniel watched the autumn trees with pure delight. “He + will go to-day,” he said of a flaming maple after a night of frost which + had crisped the white arches of the grass in his dooryard. All day he sat + and watched the maple cast its glory, and did not bother much with his + simple meals. The Wise house was erected on three terraces. Always through + the dry summer the grass was burned to an ugly negation of color. Later, + when rain came, the grass was a brilliant green, patched with rosy sorrel + and golden stars of arnica. Then later still came the diamond brilliance + of the frost. So dry were the terraces in summer-time that no flowers + would flourish. When Daniel's mother had come to the house as a bride she + had planted under a window a blush-rose bush, but always the blush-roses + were few and covered with insects. It was not until the autumn, when it + was time for the flowers to die, that the sorrel blessing of waste lands + flushed rosily and the arnica showed its stars of slender threads of gold, + and there might even be a slight glimpse of purple aster and a dusty spray + or two of goldenrod. Then Daniel did not shrink from the sight of the + terraces. In summer-time the awful negative glare of them under the + afternoon sun maddened him. + </p> + <p> + In winter he often visited his brother John in the village. He was very + fond of John, and John's wife, and their only daughter, Dora. When John + died, and later his wife, he would have gone to live with Dora, but she + married. Then her husband also died, and Dora took up dressmaking, + supporting herself and her delicate little girl-baby. Daniel adored this + child. She had been named for him, although her mother had been aghast + before the proposition. “Name a girl Daniel, uncle!” she had cried. + </p> + <p> + “She is going to have what I own after I have done with it, anyway,” + declared Daniel, gazing with awe and rapture at the tiny flannel bundle in + his niece's arms. “That won't make any difference, but I do wish you could + make up your mind to call her after me, Dora.” + </p> + <p> + Dora Lee was soft-hearted. She named her girl-baby Daniel, and called her + Danny, which was not, after all, so bad, and her old uncle loved the child + as if she had been his own. Little Daniel—he always called her + Daniel, or, rather, “Dan'l”—was the only reason for his descending + into the village on summer days when the weather was hot. Daniel, when he + visited the village in summer-time, wore always a green leaf inside his + hat and carried an umbrella and a palm-leaf fan. This caused the village + boys to shout, “Hullo, grandma!” after him. Daniel, being a little hard of + hearing, was oblivious, but he would have been in any case. His whole mind + was concentrated in getting along that dusty glare of street, stopping at + the store for a paper bag of candy, and finally ending in Dora's little + dark parlor, holding his beloved namesake on his knee, watching her + blissfully suck a barley stick while he waved his palmleaf fan. Dora would + be fitting gowns in the next room. He would hear the hum of feminine + chatter over strictly feminine topics. He felt very much aloof, even while + holding the little girl on his knee. Daniel had never married—had + never even h ad a sweetheart. The marriageable women he had seen had not + been of the type to attract a dreamer like Daniel Wise. Many of those + women thought him “a little off.” + </p> + <p> + Dora Lee, his niece, privately wondered if her uncle had his full + allotment of understanding. He seemed much more at home with her little + daughter than with herself, and Dora considered herself a very good + business woman, with possibly an unusual endowment of common sense. She + was such a good business woman that when she died suddenly she left her + child with quite a sum in the bank, besides the house. Daniel did not + hesitate for a moment. He engaged Miss Sarah Dean for a housekeeper, and + took the little girl (hardly more than a baby) to his own home. Dora had + left a will, in which she appointed Daniel guardian in spite of her doubt + concerning his measure of understanding. There was much comment in the + village when Daniel took his little namesake to live in his lonely house + on the terrace. “A man and an old maid to bring up that poor child!” they + said. But Daniel called Dr. Trumbull to his support. “It is much better + for that delicate child to be out of this village, which drains the south + hill,” Dr. Trumbull declared. “That child needs pure air. It is hot enough + in summer all around here, and hot enough at Daniel's, but the air is pure + there.” + </p> + <p> + There was no gossip about Daniel and Miss Sarah Dean. Gossip would have + seemed about as foolish concerning him and a dry blade of field-grass. + Sarah Dean looked like that. She wore rusty black gowns, and her + gray-blond hair was swept curtainwise over her ears on either side of her + very thin, mildly severe wedge of a face. Sarah was a notable housekeeper + and a good cook. She could make an endless variety of cakes and puddings + and pies, and her biscuits were marvels. Daniel had long catered for + himself, and a rasher of bacon, with an egg, suited him much better for + supper than hot biscuits, preserves, and five kinds of cake. Still, he did + not complain, and did not understand that Sarah's fare was not suitable + for the child, until Dr. Trumbull told him so. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you let that child live on that kind of food if you want her to + live at all,” said Dr. Trumbull. “Lord! what are the women made of, and + the men they feed, for that matter? Why, Daniel, there are many people in + this place, and hard-working people, too, who eat a quantity of food, yet + don't get enough nourishment for a litter of kittens.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do?” asked Daniel in a puzzled way. + </p> + <p> + “Do? You can cook a beefsteak yourself, can't you? Sarah Dean would fry + one as hard as soleleather.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can cook a beefsteak real nice,” said Daniel. + </p> + <p> + “Do it, then; and cook some chops, too, and plenty of eggs.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't exactly hanker after quite so much sweet stuff,” said Daniel. “I + wonder if Sarah's feelings will be hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “It is much better for feelings to be hurt than stomachs,” declared Dr. + Trumbull, “but Sarah's feelings will not be hurt. I know her. She is a + wiry woman. Give her a knock and she springs back into place. Don't worry + about her, Daniel.” + </p> + <p> + When Daniel went home that night he carried a juicy steak, and he cooked + it, and he and little Dan'l had a square meal. Sarah refused the steak + with a slight air of hauteur, but she behaved very well. When she set away + her untasted layer-cakes and pies and cookies, she eyed them somewhat + anxiously. Her standard of values seemed toppling before her mental + vision. “They will starve to death if they live on such victuals as + beefsteak, instead of good nourishing hot biscuits and cake,” she thought. + After the supper dishes were cleared away she went into the sitting-room + where Daniel Wise sat beside a window, waiting in a sort of stern patience + for a whiff of air. It was a very close evening. The sun was red in the + low west, but a heaving sea of mist was rising over the lowlands. + </p> + <p> + Sarah sat down opposite Daniel. “Close, ain't it?” said she. She began + knitting her lace edging. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty close,” replied Daniel. He spoke with an effect of forced + politeness. Although he had such a horror of extreme heat, he was always + chary of boldly expressing his mind concerning it, for he had a feeling + that he might be guilty of blasphemy, since he regarded the weather as + being due to an Almighty mandate. Therefore, although he suffered, he was + extremely polite. + </p> + <p> + “It is awful up-stairs in little Dan'l's room,” said Sarah. “I have got + all the windows open except the one that's right on the bed, and I told + her she needn't keep more than the sheet and one comfortable over her.” + </p> + <p> + Daniel looked anxious. “Children ain't ever overcome when they are in bed, + in the house, are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Land, no! I never heard of such a thing. And, anyway, little Dan'l's so + thin it ain't likely she feels the heat as much as some.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope she don't.” + </p> + <p> + Daniel continued to sit hunched up on himself, gazing with a sort of + mournful irritation out of the window upon the landscape over which the + misty shadows vaguely wavered. + </p> + <p> + Sarah knitted. She could knit in the dark. After a while she rose and said + she guessed she would go to bed, as to-morrow was her sweeping-day. + </p> + <p> + Sarah went, and Daniel sat alone. + </p> + <p> + Presently a little pale figure stole to him through the dusk—the + child, in her straight white nightgown, padding softly on tiny naked feet. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Dan'l?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Uncle Dan'l.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it too hot to sleep up in your room?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't feel so very hot, Uncle Dan'l, but skeeters were biting me, and + a great big black thing just flew in my window!” + </p> + <p> + “A bat, most likely.” + </p> + <p> + “A bat!” Little Dan'l shuddered. She began a little stifled wail. “I'm + afeard of bats,” she lamented. + </p> + <p> + Daniel gathered the tiny creature up. “You can jest set here with Uncle + Dan'l,” said he. “It is jest a little cooler here, I guess. Once in a + while there comes a little whiff of wind.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't any bats come?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, no! Your Uncle Dan'l won't let any bats come within a gun-shot.” + </p> + <p> + The little creature settled down contentedly in the old man's lap. Her + fair, thin locks fell over his shirt-sleeved arm, her upturned profile was + sweetly pure and clear even in the dusk. She was so delicately small that + he might have been holding a fairy, from the slight roundness of the + childish limbs and figure. Poor little girl!—Dan'l was much too + small and thin. Old man Daniel gazed down at her anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Jest as soon as the nice fall weather comes,” said he, “uncle is going to + take you down to the village real often, and you can get acquainted with + some other nice little girls and play with them, and that will do uncle's + little Dan'l good.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw little Lucy Rose,” piped the child, “and she looked at me real + pleasant, and Lily Jennings wore a pretty dress. Would they play with me, + uncle?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course they would. You don't feel quite so hot, here, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't so hot, anyway; I was afeard of bats.” + </p> + <p> + “There ain't any bats here.” + </p> + <p> + “And skeeters.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle don't believe there's any skeeters, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't hear any sing,” agreed little Dan'l in a weak voice. Very soon + she was fast asleep. The old man sat holding her, and loving her with a + simple crystalline intensity which was fairly heavenly. He himself almost + disregarded the heat, being raised above it by sheer exaltation of spirit. + All the love which had lain latent in his heart leaped to life before the + helplessness of this little child in his arms. He realized himself as much + greater and of more importance upon the face of the earth than he had ever + been before. He became paternity incarnate and superblessed. It was a long + time before he carried the little child back to her room and laid her, + still as inert with sleep as a lily, upon her bed. He bent over her with a + curious waving motion of his old shoulders as if they bore wings of love + and protection; then he crept back down-stairs. + </p> + <p> + On nights like that he did not go to bed. All the bedrooms were under the + slant of the roof and were hot. He preferred to sit until dawn beside his + open window, and doze when he could, and wait with despairing patience for + the infrequent puffs of cool air breathing blessedly of wet swamp places, + which, even when the burning sun arose, would only show dewy eyes of cool + reflection. Daniel Wise, as he sat there through the sultry night, even + prayed for courage, as a devout sentinel might have prayed at his post. + The imagination of the deserter was not in the man. He never even dreamed + of appropriating to his own needs any portion of his savings, and going + for a brief respite to the deep shadows of mountainous places, or to a + cool coast, where the great waves broke in foam upon the sand, breathing + out the mighty saving breath of the sea. It never occurred to him that he + could do anything but remain at his post and suffer in body and soul and + mind, and not complain. + </p> + <p> + The next morning was terrible. The summer had been one of unusually fervid + heat, but that one day was its climax. David went panting up-stairs to his + room at dawn. He did not wish Sarah Dean to know that he had sat up all + night. He opened his bed, tidily, as was his wont. Through living alone he + had acquired many of the habits of an orderly housewife. He went + down-stairs, and Sarah was in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “It is a dreadful hot day,” said she as Daniel approached the sink to wash + his face and hands. + </p> + <p> + “It does seem a little warm,” admitted Daniel, with his studied air of + politeness with respect to the weather as an ordinance of God. + </p> + <p> + “Warm!” echoed Sarah Dean. Her thin face blazed a scarlet wedge between + the sleek curtains of her dank hair; perspiration stood on her triangle of + forehead. “It is the hottest day I ever knew!” she said, defiantly, and + there was open rebellion in her tone. + </p> + <p> + “It IS sort of warmish, I rather guess,” said Daniel. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast, old Daniel announced his intention of taking little Dan'l + out for a walk. + </p> + <p> + At that Sarah Dean fairly exploded. “Be you gone clean daft, Dan'l?” said + she. “Don't you know that it actually ain't safe to take out such a + delicate little thing as that on such a day?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Trumbull said to take her outdoors for a walk every day, rain or + shine,” returned Daniel, obstinately. + </p> + <p> + “But Dr. Trumbull didn't say to take her out if it rained fire and + brimstone, I suppose,” said Sarah Dean, viciously. + </p> + <p> + Daniel looked at her with mild astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “It is as much as that child's life is worth to take her out such a day as + this,” declared Sarah, viciously. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Trumbull said to take no account of the weather,” said Daniel with + stubborn patience, “and we will walk on the shady side of the road, and go + to Bradley's Brook. It's always a little cool there.” + </p> + <p> + “If she faints away before you get there, you bring her right home,” said + Sarah. She was almost ferocious. “Just because YOU don't feel the heat, to + take out that little pindlin' girl such a day!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Trumbull said to,” persisted Daniel, although he looked a little + troubled. Sarah Dean did not dream that, for himself, Daniel Wise would + have preferred facing an army with banners to going out under that + terrible fusillade of sun-rays. She did not dream of the actual heroism + which actuated him when he set out with little Dan'l, holding his big + umbrella over her little sunbonneted head and waving in his other hand a + palm-leaf fan. + </p> + <p> + Little Dan'l danced with glee as she went out of the yard. The small, + anemic creature did not feel the heat except as a stimulant. Daniel had to + keep charging her to walk slowly. “Don't go so fast, little Dan'l, or + you'll get overhet, and then what will Mis' Dean say?” he continually + repeated. + </p> + <p> + Little Dan'l's thin, pretty face peeped up at him from between the sides + of her green sunbonnet. She pointed one dainty finger at a cloud of pale + yellow butterflies in the field beside which they were walking. “Want to + chase flutterbies,” she chirped. Little Dan'l had a fascinating way of + misplacing her consonants in long words. + </p> + <p> + “No; you'll get overhet. You just walk along slow with Uncle Dan'l, and + pretty soon we'll come to the pretty brook,” said Daniel. + </p> + <p> + “Where the lagon-dries live?” asked little Dan'l, meaning dragon-flies. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Daniel. He was conscious, as he spoke, of increasing waves of + thready black floating before his eyes. They had floated since dawn, but + now they were increasing. Some of the time he could hardly see the narrow + sidewalk path between the dusty meadowsweet and hardhack bushes, since + those floating black threads wove together into a veritable veil before + him. At such times he walked unsteadily, and little Dan'l eyed him + curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you walk the way you always do?” she queried. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Dan'l can't see jest straight, somehow,” replied the old man; + “guess it's because it's rather warm.” + </p> + <p> + It was in truth a day of terror because of the heat. It was one of those + days which break records, which live in men's memories as great + catastrophes, which furnish head-lines for newspapers, and are alluded to + with shudders at past sufferings. It was one of those days which seem to + forecast the Dreadful Day of Revelation wherein no shelter may be found + from the judgment of the fiery firmament. On that day men fell in their + tracks and died, or were rushed to hospitals to be succored as by a + miracle. And on that day the poor old man who had all his life feared and + dreaded the heat as the most loathly happening of earth, walked afield for + love of the little child. As Daniel went on the heat seemed to become + palpable—something which could actually be seen. There was now a + thin, gaseous horror over the blazing sky, which did not temper the heat, + but increased it, giving it the added torment of steam. The clogging + moisture seemed to brood over the accursed earth, like some foul bird with + deadly menace in wings and beak. + </p> + <p> + Daniel walked more and more unsteadily. Once he might have fallen had not + the child thrown one little arm around a bending knee. “You 'most tumbled + down. Uncle Dan'l,” said she. Her little voice had a surprised and + frightened note in it. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you be scared,” gasped Daniel; “we have got 'most to the brook; + then we'll be all right. Don't you be scared, and—you walk real slow + and not get overhet.” + </p> + <p> + The brook was near, and it was time. Daniel staggered under the trees + beside which the little stream trickled over its bed of stones. It was not + much of a brook at best, and the drought had caused it to lose much of its + life. However, it was still there, and there were delicious little hollows + of coolness between the stones over which it flowed, and large trees stood + about with their feet rooted in the blessed damp. Then Daniel sank down. + He tried to reach a hand to the water, but could not. The black veil had + woven a compact mass before his eyes. There was a terrible throbbing in + his head, but his arms were numb. + </p> + <p> + Little Dan'l stood looking at him, and her lip quivered. With a mighty + effort Daniel cleared away the veil and saw the piteous baby face. “Take—Uncle + Dan'l's hat and—fetch him—some water,” he gasped. “Don't go + too—close and—tumble in.” + </p> + <p> + The child obeyed. Daniel tried to take the dripping hat, but failed. + Little Dan'l was wise enough to pour the water over the old man's head, + but she commenced to weep, the pitiful, despairing wail of a child who + sees failing that upon which she has leaned for support. + </p> + <p> + Daniel rallied again. The water on his head gave him momentary relief, but + more than anything else his love for the child nerved him to effort. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, little Dan'l,” he said, and his voice sounded in his own ears + like a small voice of a soul thousands of miles away. “You take the—umbrella, + and—you take the fan, and you go real slow, so you don't get + overhet, and you tell Mis' Dean, and—” + </p> + <p> + Then old Daniel's tremendous nerve, that he had summoned for the sake of + love, failed him, and he sank back. He was quite unconscious—his + face, staring blindly up at the terrible sky between the trees, was to + little Dan'l like the face of a stranger. She gave one cry, more like the + yelp of a trodden animal than a child's voice. Then she took the open + umbrella and sped away. The umbrella bobbed wildly—nothing could be + seen of poor little Dan'l but her small, speeding feet. She wailed loudly + all the way. + </p> + <p> + She was half-way home when, plodding along in a cloud of brown dust, a + horse appeared in the road. The horse wore a straw bonnet and advanced + very slowly. He drew a buggy, and in the buggy were Dr. Trumbull and + Johnny, his son. He had called at Daniel's to see the little girl, and, on + being told that they had gone to walk, had said something under his breath + and turned his horse's head down the road. + </p> + <p> + “When we meet them, you must get out, Johnny,” he said, “and I will take + in that poor old man and that baby. I wish I could put common sense in + every bottle of medicine. A day like this!” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Trumbull exclaimed when he saw the great bobbing black umbrella and + heard the wails. The straw-bonneted horse stopped abruptly. Dr. Trumbull + leaned out of the buggy. “Who are you?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Dan'l is gone,” shrieked the child. + </p> + <p> + “Gone where? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “He—tumbled right down, and then he was-somebody else. He ain't + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is 'there'? Speak up quick!” + </p> + <p> + “The brook—Uncle Dan'l went away at the brook.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Trumbull acted swiftly. He gave Johnny a push. “Get out,” he said. + “Take that baby into Jim Mann's house there, and tell Mrs. Mann to keep + her in the shade and look out for her, and you tell Jim, if he hasn't got + his horse in his farm-wagon, to look lively and harness her in and put all + the ice they've got in the house in the wagon. Hurry!” + </p> + <p> + Johnny was over the wheel before his father had finished speaking, and Jim + Mann just then drew up alongside in his farm-wagon. + </p> + <p> + “What's to pay?” he inquired, breathless. He was a thin, sinewy man, + scantily clad in cotton trousers and a shirt wide open at the breast. + Green leaves protruded from under the brim of his tilted straw hat. + </p> + <p> + “Old Daniel Wise is overcome by the heat,” answered Dr. Trumbull. “Put all + the ice you have in the house in your wagon, and come along. I'll leave my + horse and buggy here. Your horse is faster.” + </p> + <p> + Presently the farm-wagon clattered down the road, dust-hidden behind a + galloping horse. Mrs. Jim Mann, who was a loving mother of children, was + soothing little Dan'l. Johnny Trumbull watched at the gate. When the wagon + returned he ran out and hung on behind, while the strong, ungainly + farm-horse galloped to the house set high on the sun-baked terraces. + </p> + <p> + When old Daniel revived he found himself in the best parlor, with ice all + about him. Thunder was rolling overhead and hail clattered on the windows. + A sudden storm, the heat-breaker, had come up and the dreadful day was + vanquished. Daniel looked up and smiled a vague smile of astonishment at + Dr. Trumbull and Sarah Dean; then his eyes wandered anxiously about. + </p> + <p> + “The child is all right,” said Dr. Trumbull; “don't you worry, Daniel. + Mrs. Jim Mann is taking care of her. Don't you try to talk. You didn't + exactly have a sunstroke, but the heat was too much for you.” + </p> + <p> + But Daniel spoke, in spite of the doctor's mandate. “The heat,” said he, + in a curiously clear voice, “ain't never goin' to be too much for me + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you talk, Daniel,” repeated Dr. Trumbull. “You've always been + nervous about the heat. Maybe you won't be again, but keep still. When I + told you to take that child out every day I didn't mean when the world was + like Sodom and Gomorrah. Thank God, it will be cooler now.” + </p> + <p> + Sarah Dean stood beside the doctor. She looked pale and severe, but + adequate. She did not even state that she had urged old Daniel not to go + out. There was true character in Sarah Dean. + </p> + <p> + The weather that summer was an unexpected quantity. Instead of the day + after the storm being cool, it was hot. However, old Daniel, after his + recovery, insisted on going out of doors with little Dan'l after + breakfast. The only concession which he would make to Sarah Dean, who was + fairly frantic with anxiety, was that he would merely go down the road as + far as the big elm-tree, that he would sit down there, and let the child + play about within sight. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be brought home agin, sure as preachin',” said Sarah Dean, “and if + you're brought home ag'in, you won't get up ag'in.” + </p> + <p> + Old Daniel laughed. “Now don't you worry, Sarah,” said he. “I'll set down + under that big ellum and keep cool.” + </p> + <p> + Old Daniel, at Sarah's earnest entreaties, took a palm-leaf fan. But he + did not use it. He sat peacefully under the cool trail of the great elm + all the forenoon, while little Dan'l played with her doll. The child was + rather languid after her shock of the day before, and not disposed to run + about. Also, she had a great sense of responsibility about the old man. + Sarah Dean had privately charged her not to let Uncle Daniel get + “overhet.” She continually glanced up at him with loving, anxious, baby + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Be you overhet. Uncle Dan'l?” she would ask. + </p> + <p> + “No, little Dan'l, uncle ain't a mite overhet,” the old man would assure + her. Now and then little Dan'l left her doll, climbed into the old man's + lap, and waved the palm-leaf fan before his face. + </p> + <p> + Old Daniel Wise loved her so that he seemed, to himself, fairly alight + with happiness. He made up his mind that he would find some little girl in + the village to come now and then and play with little Dan'l. In the cool + of that evening he stole out of the back door, covertly, lest Sarah Dean + discover him, and walked slowly to the rector's house in the village. The + rector's wife was sitting on her cool, vine-shaded veranda. She was alone, + and Daniel was glad. He asked her if the little girl who had come to live + with her, Content Adams, could not come the next afternoon and see little + Dan'l. “Little Dan'l had ought to see other children once in a while, and + Sarah Dean makes real nice cookies,” he stated, pleadingly. + </p> + <p> + Sally Patterson laughed good-naturedly. “Of course she can, Mr. Wise,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + The next afternoon Sally herself drove the rector's horse, and brought + Content to pay a call on little Dan'l. Sally and Sarah Dean visited in the + sitting-room, and left the little girls alone in the parlor with a plate + of cookies, to get acquainted. They sat in solemn silence and stared at + each other. Neither spoke. Neither ate a cooky. When Sally took her leave, + she asked little Dan'l if she had had a nice time with Content, and little + Dan'l said, “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + Sarah insisted upon Content's carrying the cookies home in the dish with a + napkin over it. + </p> + <p> + “When can I go again to see that other little girl?” asked Content as she + and Sally were jogging home. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, almost any time. I will drive you over-because it is rather a + lonesome walk for you. Did you like the little girl? She is younger than + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm.” + </p> + <p> + Also little Dan'l inquired of old Daniel when the other little girl was + coming again, and nodded emphatically when asked if she had had a nice + time. Evidently both had enjoyed, after the inscrutable fashion of + childhood, their silent session with each other. Content came generally + once a week, and old Daniel was invited to take little Dan'l to the + rector's. On that occasion Lucy Rose was present, and Lily Jennings. The + four little girls had tea together at a little table set on the porch, and + only Lily Jennings talked. The rector drove old Daniel and the child home, + and after they had arrived the child's tongue was loosened and she + chattered. She had seen everything there was to be seen at the rector's. + She told of it in her little silver pipe of a voice. She had to be checked + and put to bed, lest she be tired out. + </p> + <p> + “I never knew that child could talk so much,” Sarah said to Daniel, after + the little girl had gone up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + “She talks quite some when she's alone with me.” + </p> + <p> + “And she seems to see everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't much that child don't see,” said Daniel, proudly. + </p> + <p> + The summer continued unusually hot, but Daniel never again succumbed. When + autumn came, for the first time in his old life old Daniel Wise was + sorrowful. He dreaded the effect of the frost and the winter upon his + precious little Dan'l, whom he put before himself as fondly as any father + could have done, and as the season progressed his dread seemed justified. + Poor little Dan'l had cold after cold. Content Adams and Lucy Rose came to + see her. The rector's wife and the doctor's sent dainties. But the child + coughed and pined, and old Daniel began to look forward to spring and + summer—the seasons which had been his bugaboos through life—as + if they were angels. When the February thaw came, he told little Dan'l, + “Jest look at the snow meltin' and the drops hangin' on the trees; that is + a sign of summer.” + </p> + <p> + Old Daniel watched for the first green light along the fences and the + meadow hollows. When the trees began to cast slightly blurred shadows, + because of budding leaves, and the robins hopped over the terraces, and + now and then the air was cleft with blue wings, he became jubilant. + “Spring is jest about here, and then uncle's little Dan'l will stop + coughin', and run out of doors and pick flowers,” he told the child beside + the window. + </p> + <p> + Spring came that year with a riotous rush. Blossoms, leaves, birds, and + flowers—all arrived pellmell, fairly smothering the world with + sweetness and music. In May, about the first of the month, there was an + intensely hot day. It was as hot as midsummer. Old Daniel with little + Dan'l went afield. It was, to both, as if they fairly saw the + carnival-arrival of flowers, of green garlands upon treebranches, of birds + and butterflies. “Spring is right here!” said old Daniel. “Summer is right + here! Pick them vilets in that holler, little Dan'l.” The old man sat on a + stone in the meadowland, and watched the child in the blue-gleaming hollow + gather up violets in her little hands as if they were jewels. The sun beat + upon his head, the air was heavy with fragrance, laden with moisture. Old + Daniel wiped his forehead. He was heated, but so happy that he was not + aware of it. He saw wonderful new lights over everything. He had wielded + love, the one invincible weapon of the whole earth, and had conquered his + intangible and dreadful enemy. When, for the sake of that little beloved + life, his own life had become as nothing, old Daniel found himself + superior to it. He sat there in the tumultuous heat of the May day, + watching the child picking violets and gathering strength with every + breath of the young air of the year, and he realized that the fear of his + whole life was overcome for ever. He realized that never again, though + they might bring suffering, even death, would he dread the summers with + their torrid winds and their burning lights, since, through love, he had + become under-lord of all the conditions of his life upon earth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BIG SISTER SOLLY + </h2> + <p> + IT did seem strange that Sally Patterson, who, according to her own + self-estimation, was the least adapted of any woman in the village, should + have been the one chosen by a theoretically selective providence to deal + with a psychological problem. + </p> + <p> + It was conceded that little Content Adams was a psychological problem. She + was the orphan child of very distant relatives of the rector. When her + parents died she had been cared for by a widowed aunt on her mother's + side, and this aunt had also borne the reputation of being a creature + apart. When the aunt died, in a small village in the indefinite “Out + West,” the presiding clergyman had notified Edward Patterson of little + Content's lonely and helpless estate. The aunt had subsisted upon an + annuity which had died with her. The child had inherited nothing except + personal property. The aunt's house had been bequeathed to the church over + which the clergyman presided, and after her aunt's death he took her to + his own home until she could be sent to her relatives, and he and his wife + were exceedingly punctilious about every jot and tittle of the aunt's + personal belongings. They even purchased two extra trunks for them, which + they charged to the rector. + </p> + <p> + Little Content, traveling in the care of a lady who had known her aunt and + happened to be coming East, had six large trunks, besides a hat-box and + two suit-cases and a nailed-up wooden box containing odds and ends. + Content made quite a sensation when she arrived and her baggage was piled + on the station platform. + </p> + <p> + Poor Sally Patterson unpacked little Content's trunks. She had sent the + little girl to school within a few days after her arrival. Lily Jennings + and Amelia Wheeler called for her, and aided her down the street between + them, arms interlocked. Content, although Sally had done her best with a + pretty ready-made dress and a new hat, was undeniably a peculiar-looking + child. In the first place, she had an expression so old that it was fairly + uncanny. + </p> + <p> + “That child has downward curves beside her mouth already, and lines + between her eyes, and what she will look like a few years hence is beyond + me,” Sally told her husband after she had seen the little girl go out of + sight between Lily's curls and ruffles and ribbons and Amelia's smooth + skirts. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't look like a happy child,” agreed the rector. “Poor little + thing! Her aunt Eudora must have been a queer woman to train a child.” + </p> + <p> + “She is certainly trained,” said Sally, ruefully; “too much so. Content + acts as if she were afraid to move or speak or even breathe unless + somebody signals permission. I pity her.” + </p> + <p> + She was in the storeroom, in the midst of Content's baggage. The rector + sat on an old chair, smoking. He had a conviction that it behooved him as + a man to stand by his wife during what might prove an ordeal. He had known + Content's deceased aunt years before. He had also known the clergyman who + had taken charge of her personal property and sent it on with Content. + </p> + <p> + “Be prepared for finding almost anything. Sally,” he observed. “Mr. Zenock + Shanksbury, as I remember him, was so conscientious that it amounted to + mania. I am sure he has sent simply unspeakable things rather than incur + the reproach of that conscience of his with regard to defrauding Content + of one jot or tittle of that personal property.” + </p> + <p> + Sally shook out a long, black silk dress, with jet dangling here and + there. “Now here is this dress,” said she. “I suppose I really must keep + this, but when that child is grown up the silk will probably be cracked + and entirely worthless.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better take the two trunks and pack them with such things, and + take your chances.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I suppose so. I suppose I must take chances with everything except + furs and wools, which will collect moths. Oh, goodness!” Sally held up an + old-fashioned fitch fur tippet. Little vague winged things came from it + like dust. “Moths!” said she, tragically. “Moths now. It is full of them. + Edward, you need not tell me that clergyman's wife was conscientious. No + conscientious woman would have sent an old fur tippet all eaten with moths + into another woman's house. She could not.” + </p> + <p> + Sally took flying leaps across the storeroom. She flung open the window + and tossed out the mangy tippet. “This is simply awful!” she declared, as + she returned. “Edward, don't you think we are justified in having Thomas + take all these things out in the back yard and making a bonfire of the + whole lot?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Edward, nobody can tell what will come next. If Content's aunt had + died of a contagious disease, nothing could induce me to touch another + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear, you know that she died from the shock of a carriage accident, + because she had a weak heart.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, and of course there is nothing contagious about that.” Sally + took up an ancient bandbox and opened it. She displayed its contents: a + very frivolous bonnet dating back in style a halfcentury, gay with roses + and lace and green strings, and another with a heavy crape veil dependent. + </p> + <p> + “You certainly do not advise me to keep these?” asked Sally, despondently. + </p> + <p> + Edward Patterson looked puzzled. “Use your own judgment,” he said, + finally. + </p> + <p> + Sally summarily marched across the room and flung the gay bonnet and the + mournful one out of the window. Then she took out a bundle of very old + underwear which had turned a saffron yellow with age. “People are always + coming to me for old linen in case of burns,” she said, succinctly. “After + these are washed I can supply an auto da fe.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Sally worked all that day and several days afterward. The rector + deserted her, and she relied upon her own good sense in the disposition of + little Content's legacy. When all was over she told her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Edward,” said she, “there is exactly one trunk half full of things + which the child may live to use, but it is highly improbable. We have had + six bonfires, and I have given away three suits of old clothes to Thomas's + father. The clothes were very large.” + </p> + <p> + “Must have belonged to Eudora's first husband. He was a stout man,” said + Edward. + </p> + <p> + “And I have given two small suits of men's clothes to the Aid Society for + the next out-West barrel.” + </p> + <p> + “Eudora's second husband's.” + </p> + <p> + “And I gave the washerwoman enough old baking-dishes to last her lifetime, + and some cracked dishes. Most of the dishes were broken, but a few were + only cracked; and I have given Silas Thomas's wife ten old wool dresses + and a shawl and three old cloaks. All the other things which did not go + into the bonfires went to the Aid Society. They will go back out West.” + Sally laughed, a girlish peal, and her husband joined. But suddenly her + smooth forehead contracted. “Edward,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I am terribly puzzled about one thing.” The two were sitting in the + study. Content had gone to bed. Nobody could hear easily, but Sally + Patterson lowered her voice, and her honest, clear blue eyes had a + frightened expression. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “You will think me very silly and cowardly, and I think I have never been + cowardly, but this is really very strange. Come with me. I am such a + goose, I don't dare go alone to that storeroom.” + </p> + <p> + The rector rose. Sally switched on the lights as they went up-stairs to + the storeroom. + </p> + <p> + “Tread very softly,” she whispered. “Content is probably asleep.” + </p> + <p> + The two tiptoed up the stairs and entered the storeroom. Sally approached + one of the two new trunks which had come with Content from out West. She + opened it. She took out a parcel nicely folded in a large towel. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Edward Patterson.” + </p> + <p> + The rector stared as Sally shook out a dress-a gay, up-to-date dress, a + young girl's dress, a very tall young girl's, for the skirts trailed on + the floor as Sally held it as high as she could. It was made of a fine + white muslin. There was white lace on the bodice, and there were knots of + blue ribbon scattered over the whole, knots of blue ribbon confining tiny + bunches of rosebuds and daisies. These knots of blue ribbon and the little + flowers made it undeniably a young girl's costume. Even in the days of all + ages wearing the costumes of all ages, an older woman would have been + abashed before those exceedingly youthful knots of blue ribbons and + flowers. + </p> + <p> + The rector looked approvingly at it. “That is very pretty, it seems to + me,” he said. “That must be worth keeping, Sally.” + </p> + <p> + “Worth keeping! Well, Edward Patterson, just wait. You are a man, and of + course you cannot understand how very strange it is about the dress.” The + rector looked inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know,” said Sally, “if Content's aunt Eudora had any young + relative besides Content. I mean had she a grown-up young girl relative + who would wear a dress like this?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know of anybody. There might have been some relative of Eudora's + first husband. No, he was an only child. I don't think it possible that + Eudora had any young girl relative.” + </p> + <p> + “If she had,” said Sally, firmly, “she would have kept this dress. You are + sure there was nobody else living with Content's aunt at the time she + died?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody except the servants, and they were an old man and his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Then whose dress was this?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Sally.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know, and I don't. It is very strange.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Edward Patterson, helpless before the feminine problem, + “that—Eudora got it in some way.” + </p> + <p> + “In some way,” repeated Sally. “That is always a man's way out of a + mystery when there is a mystery. There is a mystery. There is a mystery + which worries me. I have not told you all yet, Edward.” + </p> + <p> + “What more is there, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I—asked Content whose dress this was, and she said—Oh, + Edward, I do so despise mysteries.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say, Sally?” + </p> + <p> + “She said it was her big sister Solly's dress.” + </p> + <p> + “Her what?” + </p> + <p> + “Her big sister Solly's dress. Edward, has Content ever had a sister? Has + she a sister now?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she never had a sister, and she has none now,” declared the rector, + emphatically. “I knew all her family. What in the world ails the child?” + </p> + <p> + “She said her big sister Solly, Edward, and the very name is so inane. If + she hasn't any big sister Solly, what are we going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the child must simply lie,” said the rector. + </p> + <p> + “But, Edward, I don't think she knows she lies. You may laugh, but I think + she is quite sure that she has a big sister Solly, and that this is her + dress. I have not told you the whole. After she came home from school + to-day she went up to her room, and she left the door open, and pretty + soon I heard her talking. At first I thought perhaps Lily or Amelia was up + there, although I had not seen either of them come in with Content. Then + after a while, when I had occasion to go up-stairs, I looked in her room, + and she was quite alone, although I had heard her talking as I went + up-stairs. Then I said: 'Content, I thought somebody was in your room. I + heard you talking.' + </p> + <p> + “And she said, looking right into my eyes: 'Yes, ma'am, I was talking.' + </p> + <p> + “'But there is nobody here,' I said. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, ma'am,' she said. 'There isn't anybody here now, but my big sister + Solly was here, and she is gone. You heard me talking to my big sister + Solly.' I felt faint, Edward, and you know it takes a good deal to + overcome me. I just sat down in Content's wicker rocking-chair. I looked + at her and she looked at me. Her eyes were just as clear and blue, and her + forehead looked like truth itself. She is not exactly a pretty child, and + she has a peculiar appearance, but she does certainly look truthful and + good, and she looked so then. She had tried to fluff her hair over her + forehead a little as I had told her, and not pull it back so tight, and + she wore her new dress, and her face and hands were as clean, and she + stood straight. You know she is a little inclined to stoop, and I have + talked to her about it. She stood straight, and looked at me with those + blue eyes, and I did feel fairly dizzy.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, after a bit I pulled myself together and I said: 'My dear little + girl, what is this? What do you mean about your big sister Sarah?' Edward, + I could not bring myself to say that idiotic Solly. In fact, I did think I + must be mistaken and had not heard correctly. But Content just looked at + me as if she thought me very stupid. 'Solly,' said she. 'My sister's name + is Solly.' + </p> + <p> + “'But, my dear,' I said, 'I understand that you had no sister.' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' said she, 'I have my big sister Solly.' + </p> + <p> + “'But where has she been all the time?' said I. + </p> + <p> + “Then Content looked at me and smiled, and it was quite a wonderful smile, + Edward. She smiled as if she knew so much more than I could ever know, and + quite pitied me.” + </p> + <p> + “She did not answer your question?” + </p> + <p> + “No, only by that smile which seemed to tell whole volumes about that + awful Solly's whereabouts, only I was too ignorant to read them. + </p> + <p> + “'Where is she now, dear?' I said, after a little. + </p> + <p> + “'She is gone now,' said Content. + </p> + <p> + “'Gone where?' said I. + </p> + <p> + “And then the child smiled at me again. Edward, what are we going to do? + Is she untruthful, or has she too much imagination? I have heard of such a + thing as too much imagination, and children telling lies which were not + really lies.” + </p> + <p> + “So have I,” agreed the rector, dryly, “but I never believed in it.” The + rector started to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” inquired Sally. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to endeavor to discriminate between lies and imagination,” + replied the rector. + </p> + <p> + Sally plucked at his coat-sleeve as they went down-stairs. “My dear,” she + whispered, “I think she is asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “She will have to wake up.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear, she may be nervous. Would it not be better to wait until + to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” said Edward Patterson. Usually an easy-going man, when he + was aroused he was determined to extremes. Into Content's room he marched, + Sally following. Neither of them saw their small son Jim peeking around + his door. He had heard—he could not help it—the conversation + earlier in the day between Content and his mother. He had also heard other + things. He now felt entirely justified in listening, although he had a + good code of honor. He considered himself in a way responsible, knowing + what he knew, for the peace of mind of his parents. Therefore he listened, + peeking around the doorway of his dark room. + </p> + <p> + The electric light flashed out from Content's room, and the little + interior was revealed. It was charmingly pretty. Sally had done her best + to make this not altogether welcome little stranger's room attractive. + There were garlands of rosebuds swung from the top of the white + satin-papered walls. There were dainty toilet things, a little + dressing-table decked with ivory, a case of books, chairs cushioned with + rosebud chintz, windows curtained with the same. + </p> + <p> + In the little white bed, with a rose-sprinkled coverlid over her, lay + Content. She was not asleep. Directly, when the light flashed out, she + looked at the rector and his wife with her clear blue eyes. Her fair hair, + braided neatly and tied with pink ribbons, lay in two tails on either side + of her small, certainly very good face. Her forehead was beautiful, very + white and full, giving her an expression of candor which was even noble. + Content, little lonely girl among strangers in a strange place, mutely + beseeching love and pity, from her whole attitude toward life and the + world, looked up at Edward Patterson and Sally, and the rector realized + that his determination was giving way. He began to believe in imagination, + even to the extent of a sister Solly. He had never had a daughter, and + sometimes the thought of one had made his heart tender. His voice was very + kind when he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Well, little girl,” he said, “what is this I hear?” + </p> + <p> + Sally stared at her husband and stifled a chuckle. + </p> + <p> + As for Content, she looked at the rector and said nothing. It was obvious + that she did not know what he had heard. The rector explained. + </p> + <p> + “My dear little girl,” he said, “your aunt Sally”—they had agreed + upon the relationship of uncle and aunt to Content—“tells me that + you have been telling her about your—big sister Solly.” The rector + half gasped as he said Solly. He seemed to himself to be on the driveling + verge of idiocy before the pronunciation of that absurdly inane name. + </p> + <p> + Content's responding voice came from the pink-and-white nest in which she + was snuggled, like the fluting pipe of a canary. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” said the rector, “you know perfectly well that you have + no big sister—Solly.” Every time the rector said Solly he swallowed + hard. + </p> + <p> + Content smiled as Sally had described her smiling. She said nothing. The + rector felt reproved and looked down upon from enormous heights of + innocence and childhood and the wisdom thereof. However, he persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Content,” he said, “what did you mean by telling your aunt Sally what you + did?” + </p> + <p> + “I was talking with my big sister Solly,” replied Content, with the + calmness of one stating a fundamental truth of nature. + </p> + <p> + The rector's face grew stern. “Content,” he said, “look at me.” + </p> + <p> + Content looked. Looking seemed to be the instinctive action which + distinguished her as an individual. + </p> + <p> + “Have you a big sister—Solly?” asked the rector. His face was stern, + but his voice faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—tell me so.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a big sister Solly,” said Content. Now she spoke rather wearily, + although still sweetly, as if puzzled why she had been disturbed in sleep + to be asked such an obvious question. + </p> + <p> + “Where has she been all the time, that we have known nothing about her?” + demanded the rector. + </p> + <p> + Content smiled. However, she spoke. “Home,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “When did she come here?” + </p> + <p> + “This morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is she now?” + </p> + <p> + Content smiled and was silent. The rector cast a helpless look at his + wife. He now did not care if she did see that he was completely at a loss. + How could a great, robust man and a clergyman be harsh to a tender little + girl child in a pink-andwhite nest of innocent dreams? + </p> + <p> + Sally pitied him. She spoke more harshly than her husband. “Content + Adams,” said she, “you know perfectly well that you have no big sister + Solly. Now tell me the truth. Tell me you have no big sister Solly.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a big sister Solly,” said Content. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Edward,” said Sally. “There is no use in staying and talking to + this obstinate little girl any longer.” Then she spoke to Content. “Before + you go to sleep,” said she, “you must say your prayers, if you have not + already done so.” + </p> + <p> + “I have said my prayers,” replied Content, and her blue eyes were full of + horrified astonishment at the suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Sally, “you had better say them over and add something. Pray + that you may always tell the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Content, in her little canary pipe. + </p> + <p> + The rector and his wife went out. Sally switched off the light with a snap + as she passed. Out in the hall she stopped and held her husband's arms + hard. “Hush!” she whispered. They both listened. They heard this, in the + faintest plaint of a voice: + </p> + <p> + “They don't believe you are here, Sister Solly, but I do.” + </p> + <p> + Sally dashed back into the rosebud room and switched on the light. She + stared around. She opened a closet door. Then she turned off the light and + joined her husband. + </p> + <p> + “There was nobody there?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not.” + </p> + <p> + When they were back in the study the rector and his wife looked at each + other. + </p> + <p> + “We will do the best we can,” said Sally. “Don't worry, Edward, for you + have to write your sermon to-morrow. We will manage some way. I will admit + that I rather wish Content had had some other distant relative besides you + who could have taken charge of her.” + </p> + <p> + “You poor child!” said the rector. “It is hard on you, Sally, for she is + no kith nor kin of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I don't mind,” said Sally Patterson, “if only I can succeed in + bringing her up.” + </p> + <p> + Meantime Jim Patterson, up-stairs, sitting over his next day's algebra + lesson, was even more perplexed than were his parents in the study. He + paid little attention to his book. “I can manage little Lucy,” he + reflected, “but if the others have got hold of it, I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + Presently he rose and stole very softly through the hall to Content's + door. She was timid, and always left it open so she could see the hall + light until she fell asleep. “Content,” whispered Jim. + </p> + <p> + There came the faintest “What?” in response. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you,” said Jim, in a theatrical whisper, “say another word at + school to anybody about your big sister Solly. If you do, I'll whop you, + if you are a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't care!” was sighed forth from the room. + </p> + <p> + “And I'll whop your old big sister Solly, too.” + </p> + <p> + There was a tiny sob. + </p> + <p> + “I will,” declared Jim. “Now you mind!” + </p> + <p> + The next day Jim cornered little Lucy Rose under a cedar-tree before + school began. He paid no attention to Bubby Harvey and Tom Simmons, who + were openly sniggering at him. Little Lucy gazed up at Jim, and the + blue-green shade of the cedar seemed to bring out only more clearly the + white-rose softness of her dear little face. Jim bent over her. + </p> + <p> + “Want you to do something for me,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy nodded gravely. + </p> + <p> + “If my new cousin Content ever says anything to you again—I heard + her yesterday—about her big sister Solly, don't you ever say a word + about it to anybody else. You will promise me, won't you, little Lucy?” + </p> + <p> + A troubled expression came into little Lucy's kind eyes. “But she told + Lily, and Lily told Amelia, and Amelia told her grandmother Wheeler, and + her grandmother Wheeler told Miss Parmalee when she met her on the street + after school, and Miss Parmalee called on my aunt Martha and told her,” + said little Lucy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shucks!” said Jim. + </p> + <p> + “And my aunt Martha told my father that she thought perhaps she ought to + ask for her when she called on your mother. She said Arnold Carruth's aunt + Flora was going to call, and his aunt Dorothy. I heard Miss Acton tell + Miss Parmalee that she thought they ought to ask for her when they called + on your mother, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Little Lucy,” he said, and lowered his voice, “you must promise me never, + as long as you live, to tell what I am going to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy looked frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Promise!” insisted Jim. + </p> + <p> + “I promise,” said little Lucy, in a weak voice. + </p> + <p> + “Never, as long as you live, to tell anybody. Promise!” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, you know if you break your promise and tell, you will be guilty of a + dreadful lie and be very wicked.” + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy shivered. “I never will.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my new cousin Content Adams—tells lies.” + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she does. She says she has a big sister Solly, and she hasn't got + any big sister Solly. She never did have, and she never will have. She + makes believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Makes believe?” said little Lucy, in a hopeful voice. + </p> + <p> + “Making believe is just a real mean way of lying. Now I made Content + promise last night never to say one word in school about her big sister + Solly, and I am going to tell you this, so you can tell Lily and the + others and not lie. Of course, I don't want to lie myself, because my + father is rector, and, besides, mother doesn't approve of it; but if + anybody is going to lie, I am the one. Now, you mind, little Lucy. + Content's big sister Solly has gone away, and she is never coming back. If + you tell Lily and the others I said so, I can't see how you will be + lying.” + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy gazed at the boy. She looked like truth incarnate. “But,” said + she, in her adorable stupidity of innocence, “I don't see how she could go + away if she was never here, Jim.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course she couldn't. But all you have to do is to say that you + heard me say she had gone. Don't you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand how Content's big sister Solly could possibly go away + if she was never here.” + </p> + <p> + “Little Lucy, I wouldn't ask you to tell a lie for the world, but if you + were just to say that you heard me say—” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be a lie,” said little Lucy, “because how can I help + knowing if she was never here she couldn't—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, little Lucy,” cried Jim, in despair, still with tenderness—how + could he be anything but tender with little Lucy?—“all I ask is + never to say anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “If they ask me?” + </p> + <p> + “Anyway, you can hold your tongue. You know it isn't wicked to hold your + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy absurdly stuck out the pointed tip of her little red tongue. + Then she shook her head slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, “I will hold my tongue.” + </p> + <p> + This encounter with innocence and logic had left him worsted. Jim could + see no way out of the fact that his father, the rector, his mother, the + rector's wife, and he, the rector's son, were disgraced by their + relationship to such an unsanctified little soul as this queer Content + Adams. + </p> + <p> + And yet he looked at the poor lonely little girl, who was trying very hard + to learn her lessons, who suggested in her very pose and movement a + little, scared rabbit ready to leap the road for some bush of hiding, and + while he was angry with her he pitied her. He had no doubts concerning + Content's keeping her promise. He was quite sure that he would now say + nothing whatever about that big sister Solly to the others, but he was not + prepared for what happened that very afternoon. + </p> + <p> + When he went home from school his heart stood still to see Miss Martha + Rose, and Arnold Carruth's aunt Flora, and his aunt who was not his aunt, + Miss Dorothy Vernon, who was visiting her, all walking along in state with + their lace-trimmed parasols, their white gloves, and their nice + card-cases. Jim jumped a fence and raced across lots home, and gained on + them. He burst in on his mother, sitting on the porch, which was inclosed + by wire netting overgrown with a budding vine. It was the first warm day + of the season. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” cried Jim Patterson—“mother, they are coming!” + </p> + <p> + “Who, for goodness' sake, Jim?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Arnold's aunt Flora and his aunt Dorothy and little Lucy's aunt + Martha. They are coming to call.” + </p> + <p> + Involuntarily Sally's hand went up to smooth her pretty hair. “Well, what + of it, Jim?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, they will ask for—big sister Solly!” + </p> + <p> + Sally Patterson turned pale. “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, Content has been talking at school. A lot know. You will see they + will ask for—” + </p> + <p> + “Run right in and tell Content to stay in her room,” whispered Sally, + hastily, for the callers, their white-kidded hands holding their + card-cases genteelly, were coming up the walk. + </p> + <p> + Sally advanced, smiling. She put a brave face on the matter, but she + realized that she, Sally Patterson, who had never been a coward, was + positively afraid before this absurdity. The callers sat with her on the + pleasant porch, with the young vine-shadows making networks over their + best gowns. Tea was served presently by the maid, and, much to Sally's + relief, before the maid appeared came the inquiry. Miss Martha Rose made + it. + </p> + <p> + “We would be pleased to see Miss Solly Adams also,” said Miss Martha. + </p> + <p> + Flora Carruth echoed her. “I was so glad to hear another nice girl had + come to the village,” said she with enthusiasm. Miss Dorothy Vernon said + something indefinite to the same effect. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” replied Sally, with an effort, “but there is no Miss Solly + Adams here now.” She spoke the truth as nearly as she could manage without + unraveling the whole ridiculous affair. The callers sighed with regret, + tea was served with little cakes, and they fluttered down the walk, + holding their card-cases, and that ordeal was over. + </p> + <p> + But Sally sought the rector in his study, and she was trembling. “Edward,” + she cried out, regardless of her husband's sermon, “something must be done + now.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what is the matter, Sally?” + </p> + <p> + “People are—calling on her.” + </p> + <p> + “Calling on whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Big sister—Solly!” Sally explained. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don't worry, dear,” said the rector. “Of course we will do + something, but we must think it over. Where is the child now?” + </p> + <p> + “She and Jim are out in the garden. I saw them pass the window just now. + Jim is such a dear boy, he tries hard to be nice to her. Edward Patterson, + we ought not to wait.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, we must.” + </p> + <p> + Meantime Jim and Content Adams were out in the garden. Jim had gone to + Content's door and tapped and called out, rather rudely: “Content, I say, + put on your hat and come along out in the garden. I've got something to + tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't want to,” protested Content's little voice, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “You come right along.” + </p> + <p> + And Content came along. She was an obedient child, and she liked Jim, + although she stood much in awe of him. She followed him into the garden + back of the rectory, and they sat down on the bench beneath the weeping + willow. The minute they were seated Jim began to talk. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he, “I want to know.” + </p> + <p> + Content glanced up at him, then looked down and turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know, honest Injun,” said Jim, “what you are telling such awful + whoppers about your old big sister Solly for?” + </p> + <p> + Content was silent. This time she did not smile, a tear trickled out of + her right eye and ran over the pale cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Because you know,” said Jim, observant of the tear, but ruthless, “that + you haven't any big sister Solly, and never did have. You are getting us + all in an awful mess over it, and father is rector here, and mother is his + wife, and I am his son, and you are his niece, and it is downright mean. + Why do you tell such whoppers? Out with it!” + </p> + <p> + Content was trembling violently. “I lived with Aunt Eudora,” she + whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of that? Other folks have lived with their aunts and not told + whoppers.” + </p> + <p> + “They haven't lived with Aunt Eudora.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Content Adams, and you the rector's + niece, talking that way about dead folks.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean to talk about poor Aunt Eudora,” fairly sobbed Content. + “Aunt Eudora was a real good aunt, but she was grown up. She was a good + deal more grown up than your mother; she really was, and when I first went + to live with her I was 'most a little baby; I couldn't speak—plain, + and I had to go to bed real early, and slept 'way off from everybody, and + I used to be afraid—all alone, and so—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, go on,” said Jim, but his voice was softer. It WAS hard lines for a + little kid, especially if she was a girl. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” went on the little, plaintive voice, “I got to thinking how nice + it would be if I only had a big sister, and I used to cry and say to + myself—I couldn't speak plain, you know, I was so little-'Big sister + would be real solly.' And then first thing I knew—she came.” + </p> + <p> + “Who came?” + </p> + <p> + “Big sister Solly.” + </p> + <p> + “What rot! She didn't come. Content Adams, you know she didn't come.” + </p> + <p> + “She must have come,” persisted the little girl, in a frightened whisper. + “She must have. Oh, Jim, you don't know. Big sister Solly must have come, + or I would have died like my father and mother.” + </p> + <p> + Jim's arm, which was near her, twitched convulsively, but he did not put + it around her. + </p> + <p> + “She did—co-me,” sobbed Content. “Big sister Solly did come.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, have it so,” said Jim, suddenly. “No use going over that any + longer. Have it she came, but she ain't here now, anyway. Content Adams, + you can't look me in the face and tell me that.” + </p> + <p> + Content looked at Jim, and her little face was almost terrible, so full of + bewilderment and fear it was. “Jim,” whispered Content, “I can't have big + sister Solly not be here. I can't send her away. What would she think?” + </p> + <p> + Jim stared. “Think? Why, she isn't alive to think, anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't make her—dead,” sobbed Content. “She came when I wanted + her, and now when I don't so much, when I've got Uncle Edward and Aunt + Sally and you, and don't feel so dreadful lonesome, I can't be so bad as + to make her dead.” + </p> + <p> + Jim whistled. Then his face brightened up. He looked at Content with a + shrewd and cheerful grin. “See here, kid, you say your sister Solly is + big, grown up, don't you?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + Content nodded pitifully. + </p> + <p> + “Then why, if she is grown up and pretty, don't she have a beau?” + </p> + <p> + Content stopped sobbing and gave him a quick glance. + </p> + <p> + “Then—why doesn't she get married, and go out West to live?” + </p> + <p> + Jim chuckled. Instead of a sob, a faint echo of his chuckle came from + Content. + </p> + <p> + Jim laughed merrily. “I say, Content,” he cried, “let's have it she's + married now, and gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Content. + </p> + <p> + Jim put his arm around her very nicely and protectingly. “It's all right, + then,” said he, “as all right as it can be for a girl. Say, Content, ain't + it a shame you aren't a boy?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it,” said Content, meekly. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Jim, thoughtfully, “I don't, as a rule, care much about + girls, but if you could coast down-hill and skate, and do a few things + like that, you would be almost as good as a boy.” + </p> + <p> + Content surveyed him, and her pessimistic little face assumed upward + curves. “I will,” said she. “I will do anything, Jim. I will fight if you + want me to, just like a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe you could lick any of us fellers unless you get a good + deal harder in the muscles,” said Jim, eying her thoughtfully; “but we'll + play ball, and maybe by and by you can begin with Arnold Carruth.” + </p> + <p> + “Could lick him now,” said Content. + </p> + <p> + But Jim's face sobered before her readiness. “Oh no, you mustn't go to + fighting right away,” said he. “It wouldn't do. You really are a girl, you + know, and father is rector.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I won't,” said Content; “but I COULD knock down that little boy with + curls; I know I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you needn't. I'll like you just as well. You see, Content”—Jim's + voice faltered, for he was a boy, and on the verge of sentiment before + which he was shamed—“you see, Content, now your big sister Solly is + married and gone out West, why, you can have me for your brother, and of + course a brother is a good deal better than a sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Content, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I am going,” said Jim, “to marry Lucy Rose when I grow up, but I haven't + got any sister, and I'd like you first rate for one. So I'll be your big + brother instead of your cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “Big brother Solly?” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Content, that is an awful name, but I don't care. You're only a + girl. You can call me anything you want to, but you mustn't call me Solly + when there is anybody within hearing.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Because it wouldn't do,” said Jim with weight. + </p> + <p> + “I never will, honest,” said Content. + </p> + <p> + Presently they went into the house. Dr. Trumbull was there; he had been + talking seriously to the rector and his wife. He had come over on purpose. + </p> + <p> + “It is a perfect absurdity,” he said, “but I made ten calls this morning, + and everywhere I was asked about that little Adams girl's big sister—why + you keep her hidden. They have a theory that she is either an idiot or + dreadfully disfigured. I had to tell them I know nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any girl,” said the rector, wearily. “Sally, do explain.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Trumbull listened. “I have known such cases,” he said when Sally had + finished. + </p> + <p> + “What did you do for them?” Sally asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Such cases have to be cured by time. Children get over these + fancies when they grow up.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that we have to put up with big sister Solly until + Content is grown up?” asked Sally, in a desperate tone. And then Jim came + in. Content had run up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + “It is all right, mother,” said Jim. + </p> + <p> + Sally caught him by the shoulders. “Oh, Jim, has she told you?” + </p> + <p> + Jim gave briefly, and with many omissions, an account of his conversation + with Content. + </p> + <p> + “Did she say anything about that dress, Jim?” asked his mother. + </p> + <p> + “She said her aunt had meant it for that out-West rector's daughter Alice + to graduate in, but Content wanted it for her big sister Solly, and told + the rector's wife it was hers. Content says she knows she was a naughty + girl, but after she had said it she was afraid to say it wasn't so. + Mother, I think that poor little thing is scared 'most to death.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody is going to hurt her,” said Sally. “Goodness! that rector's wife + was so conscientious that she even let that dress go. Well, I can send it + right back, and the girl will have it in time for her graduation, after + all. Jim dear, call the poor child down. Tell her nobody is going to scold + her.” Sally's voice was very tender. + </p> + <p> + Jim returned with Content. She had on a little ruffled pink gown which + seemed to reflect color on her cheeks. She wore an inscrutable expression, + at once child-like and charming. She looked shy, furtively amused, yet + happy. Sally realized that the pessimistic downward lines had disappeared, + that Content was really a pretty little girl. + </p> + <p> + Sally put an arm around the small, pink figure. “So you and Jim have been + talking, dear?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” replied little Content. “Jim is my big brother—” She + just caught herself before she said Solly. + </p> + <p> + “And your sister Solly is married and living out West?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Content, with a long breath. “My sister Solly is married.” + Smiles broke all over her little face. She hid it in Sally's skirts, and a + little peal of laughter like a bird-trill came from the soft muslin folds. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITTLE LUCY ROSE + </h2> + <p> + BACK of the rectory there was a splendid, long hill. The ground receded + until the rectory garden was reached, and the hill was guarded on either + flank by a thick growth of pines and cedars, and, being a part of the land + appertaining to the rectory, was never invaded by the village children. + This was considered very fortunate by Mrs. Patterson, Jim's mother, and + for an odd reason. The rector's wife was very fond of coasting, as she was + of most out-of-door sports, but her dignified position prevented her from + enjoying them to the utmost. In many localities the clergyman's wife might + have played golf and tennis, have rode and swum and coasted and skated, + and nobody thought the worse of her; but in The Village it was different. + </p> + <p> + Sally had therefore rejoiced at the discovery of that splendid, isolated + hill behind the house. It could not have been improved upon for a long, + perfectly glorious coast, winding up on the pool of ice in the garden and + bumping thrillingly between dry vegetables. Mrs. Patterson steered and Jim + made the running pushes, and slid flat on his chest behind his mother. Jim + was very proud of his mother. He often wished that he felt at liberty to + tell of her feats. He had never been told not to tell, but realized, being + rather a sharp boy, that silence was wiser. Jim's mother confided in him, + and he respected her confidence. “Oh, Jim dear,” she would often say, + “there is a mothers' meeting this afternoon, and I would so much rather go + coasting with you.” Or, “There's a Guild meeting about a fair, and the ice + in the garden is really quite smooth.” + </p> + <p> + It was perhaps unbecoming a rector's wife, but Jim loved his mother better + because she expressed a preference for the sports he loved, and considered + that no other boy had a mother who was quite equal to his. Sally Patterson + was small and wiry, with a bright face, and very thick, brown hair, which + had a boyish crest over her forehead, and she could run as fast as Jim. + Jim's father was much older than his mother, and very dignified, although + he had a keen sense of humor. He used to laugh when his wife and son came + in after their coasting expeditions. + </p> + <p> + “Well, boys,” he would say, “had a good time?” + </p> + <p> + Jim was perfectly satisfied and convinced that his mother was the very + best and most beautiful person in the village, even in the whole world, + until Mr. Cyril Rose came to fill a vacancy of cashier in the bank, and + his daughter, little Lucy Rose, as a matter of course, came with him. + Little Lucy had no mother. Mr. Cyril's cousin, Martha Rose, kept his + house, and there was a colored maid with a bad temper, who was said, + however, to be invaluable “help.” + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy attended Madame's school. She came the next Monday after Jim + and his friends had planned to have a chicken roast and failed. After Jim + saw little Lucy he thought no more of the chicken roast. It seemed to him + that he thought no more of anything. He could not by any possibility have + learned his lessons had it not been for the desire to appear a good + scholar before little Lucy. Jim had never been a self-conscious boy, but + that day he was so keenly worried about her opinion of him that his usual + easy swing broke into a strut when he crossed the room. He need not have + been so troubled, because little Lucy was not looking at him. She was not + looking at any boy or girl. She was only trying to learn her lesson. + Little Lucy was that rather rare creature, a very gentle, obedient child, + with a single eye for her duty. She was so charming that it was sad to + think how much her mother had missed, as far as this world was concerned. + </p> + <p> + The minute Madame saw her a singular light came into her eyes—the + light of love of a childless woman for a child. Similar lights were in the + eyes of Miss Parmalee and Miss Acton. They looked at one another with a + sort of sweet confidence when they were drinking tea together after school + in Madame's study. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see such a darling?” said Madame. Miss Parmalee said she + never had, and Miss Acton echoed her. + </p> + <p> + “She is a little angel,” said Madame. + </p> + <p> + “She worked so hard over her geography lesson,” said Miss Parmalee, “and + she got the Amazon River in New England and the Connecticut in South + America, after all; but she was so sweet about it, she made me want to + change the map of the world. Dear little soul, it did seem as if she ought + to have rivers and everything else just where she chose.” + </p> + <p> + “And she tried so hard to reach an octave, and her little finger is too + short,” said Miss Acton; “and she hasn't a bit of an ear for music, but + her little voice is so sweet it does not matter.” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen prettier children,” said Madame, “but never one quite such a + darling.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Parmalee and Miss Acton agreed with Madame, and so did everybody + else. Lily Jennings's beauty was quite eclipsed by little Lucy, but Lily + did not care; she was herself one of little Lucy's most fervent admirers. + She was really Jim Patterson's most formidable rival in the school. “You + don't care about great, horrid boys, do you, dear?” Lily said to Lucy, + entirely within hearing of Jim and Lee Westminster and Johnny Trumbull and + Arnold Carruth and Bubby Harvey and Frank Ellis, and a number of others + who glowered at her. + </p> + <p> + Dear little Lucy hesitated. She did not wish to hurt the feelings of boys, + and the question had been loudly put. Finally she said she didn't know. + Lack of definite knowledge was little Lucy's rock of refuge in time of + need. She would look adorable, and say in her timid little fluty voice, “I + don't—know.” The last word came always with a sort of gasp which was + alluring. All the listening boys were convinced that little Lucy loved + them all individually and generally, because of her “I don't—know.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody was convinced of little Lucy's affection for everybody, which + was one reason for her charm. She flattered without knowing that she did + so. It was impossible for her to look at any living thing except with soft + eyes of love. It was impossible for her to speak without every tone + conveying the sweetest deference and admiration. The whole atmosphere of + Madame's school changed with the advent of the little girl. Everybody + tried to live up to little Lucy's supposed ideal, but in reality she had + no ideal. Lucy was the simplest of little girls, only intent upon being + good, doing as she was told, and winning her father's approval, also her + cousin Martha's. + </p> + <p> + Martha Rose was quite elderly, although still good-looking. She was not + popular, because she was very silent. She dressed becomingly, received + calls and returned them, but hardly spoke a word. People rather dreaded + her coming. Miss Martha Rose would sit composedly in a proffered chair, + her gloved hands crossed over her nice, gold-bound card-case, her chin + tilted at an angle which never varied, her mouth in a set smile which + never wavered, her slender feet in their best shoes toeing out precisely + under the smooth sweep of her gray silk skirt. Miss Martha Rose dressed + always in gray, a fashion which the village people grudgingly admired. It + was undoubtedly becoming and distinguished, but savored ever so slightly + of ostentation, as did her custom of always dressing little Lucy in blue. + There were different shades and fabrics, but blue it always was. It was + the best color for the child, as it revealed the fact that her big, dark + eyes were blue. Shaded as they were by heavy, curly lashes, they would + have been called black or brown, but the blue in them leaped to vision + above the blue of blue frocks. Little Lucy had the finest, most delicate + features, a mist of soft, dark hair, which curled slightly, as mist curls, + over sweet, round temples. She was a small, daintily clad child, and she + spoke and moved daintily and softly; and when her blue eyes were fixed + upon anybody's face, that person straightway saw love and obedience and + trust in them, and love met love half-way. Even Miss Martha Rose looked + another woman when little Lucy's innocent blue eyes were fixed upon her + rather handsome but colorless face between the folds of her silvery hair; + Miss Martha's hair had turned prematurely gray. Light would come into + Martha Rose's face, light and animation, although she never talked much + even to Lucy. She never talked much to her cousin Cyril, but he was rather + glad of it. He had a keen mind, but it was easily diverted, and he was + engrossed in his business, and concerned lest he be disturbed by such + things as feminine chatter, of which he certainly had none in his own + home, if he kept aloof from Jenny, the colored maid. Hers was the only + female voice ever heard to the point of annoyance in the Rose house. + </p> + <p> + It was rather wonderful how a child like little Lucy and Miss Martha lived + with so little conversation. Martha talked no more at home than abroad; + moreover, at home she had not the attitude of waiting for some one to talk + to her, which people outside considered trying. Martha did not expect her + cousin to talk to her. She seldom asked a question. She almost never + volunteered a perfectly useless observation. She made no remarks upon + self-evident topics. If the sun shone, she never mentioned it. If there + was a heavy rain, she never mentioned that. Miss Martha suited her cousin + exactly, and for that reason, aside from the fact that he had been devoted + to little Lucy's mother, it never occurred to him to marry again. Little + Lucy talked no more than Miss Martha, and nobody dreamed that she + sometimes wanted somebody to talk to her. Nobody dreamed that the dear + little girl, studying her lessons, learning needlework, trying very + futilely to play the piano, was lonely; but she was without knowing it + herself. Martha was so kind and so still; and her father was so kind and + so still, engrossed in his papers or books, often sitting by himself in + his own study. Little Lucy in this peace and stillness was not having her + share of childhood. When other little girls came to play with her. Miss + Martha enjoined quiet, and even Lily Jennings's bird-like chattering + became subdued. It was only at school that Lucy got her chance for the + irresponsible delight which was the simple right of her childhood, and + there her zeal for her lessons prevented. She was happy at school, + however, for there she lived in an atmosphere of demonstrative affection. + The teachers were given to seizing her in fond arms and caressing her, and + so were her girl companions; while the boys, especially Jim Patterson, + looked wistfully on. + </p> + <p> + Jim Patterson was in love, a charming little poetical boy-love; but it was + love. Everything which he did in those days was with the thought of little + Lucy for incentive. He stood better in school than he had ever done + before, but it was all for the sake of little Lucy. Jim Patterson had one + talent, rather rudimentary, still a talent. He could play by ear. His + father owned an old violin. He had been inclined to music in early youth, + and Jim got permission to practise on it, and he went by himself in the + hot attic and practised. Jim's mother did not care for music, and her + son's preliminary scraping tortured her. Jim tucked the old fiddle under + one round boy-cheek and played in the hot attic, with wasps buzzing around + him; and he spent his pennies for catgut, and he learned to mend + fiddle-strings; and finally came a proud Wednesday afternoon when there + were visitors in Madame's school, and he stood on the platform, with Miss + Acton playing an accompaniment on the baby grand piano, and he managed a + feeble but true tune on his violin. It was all for little Lucy, but little + Lucy cared no more for music than his mother; and while Jim was playing + she was rehearsing in the depths of her mind the little poem which later + she was to recite; for this adorable little Lucy was, as a matter of + course, to figure in the entertainment. It therefore happened that she + heard not one note of Jim Patterson's painfully executed piece, for she + was saying to herself in mental singsong a foolish little poem, beginning: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There was one little flower that bloomed + Beside a cottage door. +</pre> + <p> + When she went forward, little darling blue-clad figure, there was a murmur + of admiration; and when she made mistakes straight through the poem, + saying, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There was a little flower that fell + On my aunt Martha's floor, +</pre> + <p> + for beginning, there was a roar of tender laughter and a clapping of + tender, maternal hands, and everybody wanted to catch hold of little Lucy + and kiss her. It was one of the irresistible charms of this child that + people loved her the more for her mistakes, and she made many, although + she tried so very hard to avoid them. Little Lucy was not in the least + brilliant, but she held love like a precious vase, and it gave out perfume + better than mere knowledge. + </p> + <p> + Jim Patterson was so deeply in love with her when he went home that night + that he confessed to his mother. Mrs. Patterson had led up to the subject + by alluding to little Lucy while at the dinner-table. + </p> + <p> + “Edward,” she said to her husband—both she and the rector had been + present at Madame's school entertainment and the tea-drinking afterward—“did + you ever see in all your life such a darling little girl as the new + cashier's daughter? She quite makes up for Miss Martha, who sat here one + solid hour, holding her card-case, waiting for me to talk to her. That + child is simply delicious, and I was so glad she made mistakes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is a charming child,” assented the rector, “despite the fact + that she is not a beauty, hardly even pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Mrs. Patterson, “but she has the worth of beauty.” + </p> + <p> + Jim was quite pale while his father and mother were talking. He swallowed + the hot soup so fast that it burnt his tongue. Then he turned very red, + but nobody noticed him. When his mother came up-stairs to kiss him good + night he told her. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said he, “I have something to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Jim,” replied Sally Patterson, with her boyish air. + </p> + <p> + “It is very important,” said Jim. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Patterson did not laugh; she did not even smile. She sat down beside + Jim's bed and looked seriously at his eager, rapt, shamed little boy-face + on the pillow. “Well?” said she, after a minute which seemed difficult to + him. + </p> + <p> + Jim coughed. Then he spoke with a blurt. “Mother,” said Jim, “by and by, + of course not quite yet, but by and by, will you have any objection to + Miss Lucy Rose as a daughter?” + </p> + <p> + Even then Sally Patterson did not laugh or even smile. “Are you thinking + of marrying her, Jim?” asked she, quite as if her son had been a man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother,” replied Jim. Then he flung up his little arms in pink + pajama sleeves, and Sally Patterson took his face between her two hands + and kissed him warmly. + </p> + <p> + “She is a darling, and your choice does you credit, Jim,” said she. “Of + course you have said nothing to her yet?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was rather too soon.” + </p> + <p> + “I really think you are very wise, Jim,” said his mother. “It is too soon + to put such ideas into the poor child's head. She is younger than you, + isn't she, Jim?” + </p> + <p> + “She is just six months and three days younger,” replied Jim, with + majesty. + </p> + <p> + “I thought so. Well, you know, Jim, it would just wear her all out, as + young as that, to be obliged to think about her trousseau and housekeeping + and going to school, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Jim, with a pleased air. “I thought I was right, + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Entirely right; and you, too, really ought to finish school, and take up + a profession or a business, before you say anything definite. You would + want a nice home for the dear little thing, you know that, Jim.” + </p> + <p> + Jim stared at his mother out of his white pillow. “I thought I would stay + with you, and she would stay with her father until we were both very much + older,” said he. “She has a nice home now, you know, mother.” + </p> + <p> + Sally Patterson's mouth twitched a little, but she spoke quite gravely and + reasonably. “Yes, that is very true,” said she; “still, I do think you are + wise to wait, Jim.” + </p> + <p> + When Sally Patterson had left Jim, she looked in on the rector in his + study. “Our son is thinking seriously of marrying, Edward,” said she. + </p> + <p> + The rector stared at her. She had shut the door, and she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “He is very discreet. He has consulted me as to my approval of her as + daughter and announced his intention to wait a little while.” + </p> + <p> + The rector laughed; then he wrinkled his forehead uneasily. “I don't like + the little chap getting such ideas,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry, Edward; he hasn't got them,” said Sally Patterson. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “He has made a very wise choice. She is that perfect darling of a Rose + girl who couldn't speak her piece, and thought we all loved her when we + laughed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don't let him get foolish ideas; that is all, my dear,” said the + rector. + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry, Edward. I can manage him,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + But she was mistaken. The very next day Jim proposed in due form to little + Lucy. He could not help it. It was during the morning intermission, and he + came upon her seated all alone under a hawthorn hedge, studying her + arithmetic anxiously. She was in blue, as usual, and a very perky blue bow + sat on her soft, dark hair, like a bluebird. She glanced up at Jim from + under her long lashes. + </p> + <p> + “Do two and seven make eight or ten? If you please, will you tell me?” + said she. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Lucy,” said Jim, “will you marry me by and by?” + </p> + <p> + Lucy stared at him uncomprehendingly. + </p> + <p> + “Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Will I what?” + </p> + <p> + “Marry me by and by?” + </p> + <p> + Lucy took refuge in her little harbor of ignorance. “I don't know,” said + she. + </p> + <p> + “But you like me, don't you, Lucy?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you like me better than you like Johnny Trumbull?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You like me better than you like Arnold Carruth, don't you? He has curls + and wears socks.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you think you can be sure?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + Jim stared helplessly at little Lucy. She stared back sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “Please tell me whether two and seven make six or eleven, Jim,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “They make nine,” said Jim. + </p> + <p> + “I have been counting my fingers and I got it eleven, but I suppose I must + have counted one finger twice,” said little Lucy. She gazed reflectively + at her little baby-hands. A tiny ring with a blue stone shone on one + finger. + </p> + <p> + “I will give you a ring, you know,” Jim said, coaxingly. + </p> + <p> + “I have got a ring my father gave me. Did you say it was ten, please, + Jim?” + </p> + <p> + “Nine,” gasped Jim. + </p> + <p> + “All the way I can remember,” said little Lucy, “is for you to pick just + so many leaves off the hedge, and I will tie them in my handkerchief, and + just before I have to say my lesson I will count those leaves.” + </p> + <p> + Jim obediently picked nine leaves from the hawthorn hedge, and little Lucy + tied them into her handkerchief, and then the Japanese gong sounded and + they went back to school. + </p> + <p> + That night after dinner, just before Lucy went to bed, she spoke of her + own accord to her father and Miss Martha, a thing which she seldom did. + “Jim Patterson asked me to marry him when I asked him what seven and two + made in my arithmetic lesson,” said she. She looked with the loveliest + round eyes of innocence first at her father, then at Miss Martha. Cyril + Rose gasped and laid down his newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say, little Lucy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Jim Patterson asked me to marry him when I asked him to tell me how much + seven and two made in my arithmetic lesson.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril Rose and his cousin Martha looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Arnold Carruth asked me, too, when a great big wasp flew on my arm and + frightened me.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril and Martha continued to look. The little, sweet, uncertain voice + went on. + </p> + <p> + “And Johnny Trumbull asked me when I 'most fell down on the sidewalk; and + Lee Westminster asked me when I wasn't doing anything, and so did Bubby + Harvey.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you tell them?” asked Miss Martha, in a faint voice. + </p> + <p> + “I told them I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better have the child go to bed now,” said Cyril. “Good night, + little Lucy. Always tell father everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father,” said little Lucy, and was kissed, and went away with + Martha. + </p> + <p> + When Martha returned, her cousin looked at her severely. He was a fair, + gentle-looking man, and severity was impressive when he assumed it. + </p> + <p> + “Really, Martha,” said he, “don't you think you had better have a little + closer outlook over that baby?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cyril, I never dreamed of such a thing,” cried Miss Martha. + </p> + <p> + “You really must speak to Madame,” said Cyril. “I cannot have such things + put into the child's head.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cyril, how can I?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is your duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Cyril, could not—you?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril grinned. “Do you think,” said he, “that I am going to that elegant + widow schoolma'am and say, 'Madame, my young daughter has had four + proposals of marriage in one day, and I must beg you to put a stop to such + proceedings'? No, Martha; it is a woman's place to do such a thing as + that. The whole thing is too absurd, indignant as I am about it. Poor + little soul!” + </p> + <p> + So it happened that Miss Martha Rose, the next day being Saturday, called + on Madame, but, not being asked any leading question, found herself + absolutely unable to deliver herself of her errand, and went away with it + unfulfilled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must say,” said Madame to Miss Parmalee, as Miss Martha tripped + wearily down the front walk—“I must say, of all the educated women + who have really been in the world, she is the strangest. You and I have + done nothing but ask inane questions, and she has sat waiting for them, + and chirped back like a canary. I am simply worn out.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” sighed Miss Parmalee. + </p> + <p> + But neither of them was so worn out as poor Miss Martha, anticipating her + cousin's reproaches. However, her wonted silence and reticence stood her + in good stead, for he merely asked, after little Lucy had gone to bed: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did Madame say about Lucy's proposals?” + </p> + <p> + “She did not say anything,” replied Martha. + </p> + <p> + “Did she promise it would not occur again?” + </p> + <p> + “She did not promise, but I don't think it will.” + </p> + <p> + The financial page was unusually thrilling that night, and Cyril Rose, who + had come to think rather lightly of the affair, remarked, absent-mindedly; + “Well, I hope it does not occur again. I cannot have such ridiculous ideas + put into the child's head. If it does, we get a governess for her and take + her away from Madame's.” Then he resumed his reading, and Martha, guilty + but relieved, went on with her knitting. + </p> + <p> + It was late spring then, and little Lucy had attended Madame's school + several months, and her popularity had never waned. A picnic was planned + to Dover's Grove, and the romantic little girls had insisted upon a May + queen, and Lucy was unanimously elected. The pupils of Madame's school + went to the picnic in the manner known as a “strawride.” Miss Parmalee sat + with them, her feet uncomfortably tucked under her. She was the youngest + of the teachers, and could not evade the duty. Madame and Miss Acton + headed the procession, sitting comfortably in a victoria driven by the + colored man Sam, who was employed about the school. Dover's Grove was six + miles from the village, and a favorite spot for picnics. The victoria + rolled on ahead; Madame carried a black parasol, for the sun was on her + side and the day very warm. Both ladies wore thin, dark gowns, and both + felt the languor of spring. + </p> + <p> + The straw-wagon, laden with children seated upon the golden trusses of + straw, looked like a wagonload of blossoms. Fair and dark heads, rosy + faces looked forth in charming clusters. They sang, they chattered. It + made no difference to them that it was not the season for a straw-ride, + that the trusses were musty. They inhaled the fragrance of blooming boughs + under which they rode, and were quite oblivious to all discomfort and + unpleasantness. Poor Miss Parmalee, with her feet going to sleep, sneezing + from time to time from the odor of the old straw, did not obtain the full + beauty of the spring day. She had protested against the straw-ride. + </p> + <p> + “The children really ought to wait until the season for such things,” she + had told Madame, quite boldly; and Madame had replied that she was well + aware of it, but the children wanted something of the sort, and the hay + was not cut, and straw, as it happened, was more easily procured. + </p> + <p> + “It may not be so very musty,” said Madame; “and you know, my dear, straw + is clean, and I am sorry, but you do seem to be the one to ride with the + children on the straw, because”—Madame dropped her voice—“you + are really younger, you know, than either Miss Acton or I.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Miss Parmalee could almost have dispensed with her few years of + superior youth to have gotten rid of that straw-ride. She had no parasol, + and the sun beat upon her head, and the noise of the children got horribly + on her nerves. Little Lucy was her one alleviation. Little Lucy sat in the + midst of the boisterous throng, perfectly still, crowned with her garland + of leaves and flowers, her sweet, pale little face calmly observant. She + was the high light of Madame's school, the effect which made the whole. + All the others looked at little Lucy, they talked to her, they talked at + her; but she remained herself unmoved, as a high light should be. “Dear + little soul,” Miss Parmalee thought. She also thought that it was a pity + that little Lucy could not have worn a white frock in her character as + Queen of the May, but there she was mistaken. The blue was of a peculiar + shade, of a very soft material, and nothing could have been prettier. Jim + Patterson did not often look away from little Lucy; neither did Arnold + Carruth; neither did Bubby Harvey; neither did Johnny Trumbull; neither + did Lily Jennings; neither did many others. + </p> + <p> + Amelia Wheeler, however, felt a little jealous as she watched Lily. She + thought Lily ought to have been queen; and she, while she did not dream of + competing with incomparable little Lucy, wished Lily would not always look + at Lucy with such worshipful admiration. Amelia was inconsistent. She knew + that she herself could not aspire to being an object of worship, but the + state of being a nonentity for Lily was depressing. “Wonder if I jumped + out of this old wagon and got killed if she would mind one bit?” she + thought, tragically. But Amelia did not jump. She had tragic impulses, or + rather imaginations of tragic impulses, but she never carried them out. It + was left for little Lucy, flower-crowned and calmly sweet and gentle under + honors, to be guilty of a tragedy of which she never dreamed. For that was + the day when little Lucy was lost. + </p> + <p> + When the picnic was over, when the children were climbing into the + straw-wagon and Madame and Miss Acton were genteelly disposed in the + victoria, a lamentable cry arose. Sam drew his reins tight and rolled his + inquiring eyes around; Madame and Miss Acton leaned far out on either side + of the victoria. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what is it?” said Madame. “My dear Miss Acton, do pray get out and + see what the trouble is. I begin to feel a little faint.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, Madame got her cut-glass smelling-bottle out of her bag and began + to sniff vigorously. Sam gazed backward and paid no attention to her. + Madame always felt faint when anything unexpected occurred, and smelled at + the pretty bottle, but she never fainted. + </p> + <p> + Miss Acton got out, lifting her nice skirts clear of the dusty wheel, and + she scuttled back to the uproarious straw-wagon, showing her slender + ankles and trimly shod feet. Miss Acton was a very wiry, dainty woman, + full of nervous energy. When she reached the straw-wagon Miss Parmalee was + climbing out, assisted by the driver. Miss Parmalee was very pale and + visibly tremulous. The children were all shrieking in dissonance, so it + was quite impossible to tell what the burden of their tale of woe was; but + obviously something of a tragic nature had happened. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” asked Miss Acton, teetering like a humming-bird with + excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Little Lucy—” gasped Miss Parmalee. + </p> + <p> + “What about her?” + </p> + <p> + “She isn't here.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “We don't know. We just missed her.” + </p> + <p> + Then the cry of the children for little Lucy Rose, although sadly + wrangled, became intelligible. Madame came, holding up her silk skirt and + sniffing at her smelling-bottle, and everybody asked questions of + everybody else, and nobody knew any satisfactory answers. Johnny Trumbull + was confident that he was the last one to see little Lucy, and so were + Lily Jennings and Amelia Wheeler, and so were Jim Patterson and Bubby + Harvey and Arnold Carruth and Lee Westminster and many others; but when + pinned down to the actual moment everybody disagreed, and only one thing + was certain—little Lucy Rose was missing. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say to her father?” moaned Madame. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, we shall find her before we say anything,” returned Miss + Parmalee, who was sure to rise to an emergency. Madame sank helpless + before one. “You had better go and sit under that tree (Sam, take a + cushion out of the carriage for Madame) and keep quiet; then Sam must + drive to the village and give the alarm, and the strawwagon had better go, + too; and the rest of us will hunt by threes, three always keeping + together. Remember, children, three of you keep together, and, whatever + you do, be sure and do not separate. We cannot have another lost.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed very sound advice. Madame, pale and frightened, sat on the + cushion under the tree and sniffed at her smelling-bottle, and the rest + scattered and searched the grove and surrounding underbrush thoroughly. + But it was sunset when the groups returned to Madame under her tree, and + the strawwagon with excited people was back, and the victoria with Lucy's + father and the rector and his wife, and Dr. Trumbull in his buggy, and + other carriages fast arriving. Poor Miss Martha Rose had been out calling + when she heard the news, and she was walking to the scene of action. The + victoria in which her cousin was seated left her in a cloud of dust. Cyril + Rose had not noticed the mincing figure with the card-case and the + parasol. + </p> + <p> + The village searched for little Lucy Rose, but it was Jim Patterson who + found her, and in the most unlikely of places. A forlorn pair with a + multiplicity of forlorn children lived in a tumble-down house about half a + mile from the grove. The man's name was Silas Thomas, and his wife's was + Sarah. Poor Sarah had lost a large part of the small wit she had + originally owned several years before, when her youngest daughter, aged + four, died. All the babies that had arrived since had not consoled her for + the death of that little lamb, by name Viola May, nor restored her full + measure of under-wit. Poor Sarah Thomas had spied adorable little Lucy + separated from her mates by chance for a few minutes, picking wild + flowers, and had seized her in forcible but loving arms and carried her + home. Had Lucy not been such a silent, docile child, it could never have + happened; but she was a mere little limp thing in the grasp of the + over-loving, deprived mother who thought she had gotten back her own + beloved Viola May. + </p> + <p> + When Jim Patterson, big-eyed and pale, looked in at the Thomas door, there + sat Sarah Thomas, a large, unkempt, wild-visaged, but gentle creature, + holding little Lucy and cuddling her, while Lucy, shrinking away as far as + she was able, kept her big, dark eyes of wonder and fear upon the woman's + face. And all around were clustered the Thomas children, unkempt as their + mother, a gentle but degenerate brood, all of them believing what their + mother said. Viola May had come home again. Silas Thomas was not there; he + was trudging slowly homeward from a job of wood-cutting. Jim saw only the + mother, little Lucy, and that poor little flock of children gazing in + wonder and awe. Jim rushed in and faced Sarah Thomas. “Give me little + Lucy!” said he, as fiercely as any man. But he reckoned without the + unreasoning love of a mother. Sarah only held little Lucy faster, and the + poor little girl rolled appealing eyes at him over that brawny, grasping + arm of affection. + </p> + <p> + Jim raced for help, and it was not long before it came. Little Lucy rode + home in the victoria, seated in Sally Patterson's lap. “Mother, you take + her,” Jim had pleaded; and Sally, in the face and eyes of Madame, had + gathered the little trembling creature into her arms. In her heart she had + not much of an opinion of any woman who had allowed such a darling little + girl out of her sight for a moment. Madame accepted a seat in another + carriage and rode home, explaining and sniffing and inwardly resolving + never again to have a straw-ride. + </p> + <p> + Jim stood on the step of the victoria all the way home. They passed poor + Miss Martha Rose, still faring toward the grove, and nobody noticed her, + for the second time. She did not turn back until the straw-wagon, which + formed the tail of the little procession, reached her. That she halted + with mad waves of her parasol, and, when told that little Lucy was found, + refused a seat on the straw because she did not wish to rumple her best + gown and turned about and fared home again. + </p> + <p> + The rectory was reached before Cyril Rose's house, and Cyril yielded + gratefully to Sally Patterson's proposition that she take the little girl + with her, give her dinner, see that she was washed and brushed and freed + from possible contamination from the Thomases, who were not a cleanly lot, + and later brought home in the rector's carriage. However, little Lucy + stayed all night at the rectory. She had a bath; her lovely, misty hair + was brushed; she was fed and petted; and finally Sally Patterson + telephoned for permission to keep her overnight. By that time poor Martha + had reached home and was busily brushing her best dress. + </p> + <p> + After dinner, little Lucy, very happy and quite restored, sat in Sally + Patterson's lap on the veranda, while Jim hovered near. His innocent + boy-love made him feel as if he had wings. But his wings only bore him to + failure, before an earlier and mightier force of love than his young heart + could yet compass for even such a darling as little Lucy. He sat on the + veranda step and gazed eagerly and rapturously at little Lucy on his + mother's lap, and the desire to have her away from other loves came over + him. He saw the fireflies dancing in swarms on the lawn, and a favorite + sport of the children of the village occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + “Say, little Lucy,” said Jim. + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy looked up with big, dark eyes under her mist of hair, as she + nestled against Sally Patterson's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Say, let's chase fireflies, little Lucy.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to chase fireflies with Jim, darling?” asked Sally. + </p> + <p> + Little Lucy nestled closer. “I would rather stay with you,” said she in + her meek flute of a voice, and she gazed up at Sally with the look which + she might have given the mother she had lost. + </p> + <p> + Sally kissed her and laughed. Then she reached down a fond hand and patted + her boy's head. “Never mind, Jim,” said Sally. “Mothers have to come + first.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOBLESSE + </h2> + <p> + MARGARET LEE encountered in her late middle age the rather singular strait + of being entirely alone in the world. She was unmarried, and as far as + relatives were concerned, she had none except those connected with her by + ties not of blood, but by marriage. + </p> + <p> + Margaret had not married when her flesh had been comparative; later, when + it had become superlative, she had no opportunities to marry. Life would + have been hard enough for Margaret under any circumstances, but it was + especially hard, living, as she did, with her father's stepdaughter and + that daughter's husband. + </p> + <p> + Margaret's stepmother had been a child in spite of her two marriages, and + a very silly, although pretty child. The daughter, Camille, was like her, + although not so pretty, and the man whom Camille had married was what + Margaret had been taught to regard as “common.” His business pursuits were + irregular and partook of mystery. He always smoked cigarettes and chewed + gum. He wore loud shirts and a diamond scarf-pin which had upon him the + appearance of stolen goods. The gem had belonged to Margaret's own mother, + but when Camille expressed a desire to present it to Jack Desmond, + Margaret had yielded with no outward hesitation, but afterward she wept + miserably over its loss when alone in her room. The spirit had gone out of + Margaret, the little which she had possessed. She had always been a + gentle, sensitive creature, and was almost helpless before the wishes of + others. + </p> + <p> + After all, it had been a long time since Margaret had been able to force + the ring even upon her little finger, but she had derived a small pleasure + from the reflection that she owned it in its faded velvet box, hidden + under laces in her top bureau drawer. She did not like to see it blazing + forth from the tie of this very ordinary young man who had married + Camille. Margaret had a gentle, high-bred contempt for Jack Desmond, but + at the same time a vague fear of him. Jack had a measure of unscrupulous + business shrewdness, which spared nothing and nobody, and that in spite of + the fact that he had not succeeded. + </p> + <p> + Margaret owned the old Lee place, which had been magnificent, but of late + years the expenditures had been reduced and it had deteriorated. The + conservatories had been closed. There was only one horse in the stable. + Jack had bought him. He was a wornout trotter with legs carefully + bandaged. Jack drove him at reckless speed, not considering those slender, + braceleted legs. Jack had a racing-gig, and when in it, with striped coat, + cap on one side, cigarette in mouth, lines held taut, skimming along the + roads in clouds of dust, he thought himself the man and true sportsman + which he was not. Some of the old Lee silver had paid for that waning + trotter. + </p> + <p> + Camille adored Jack, and cared for no associations, no society, for which + he was not suited. Before the trotter was bought she told Margaret that + the kind of dinners which she was able to give in Fairhill were awfully + slow. “If we could afford to have some men out from the city, some nice + fellers that Jack knows, it would be worth while,” said she, “but we have + grown so hard up we can't do a thing to make it worth their while. Those + men haven't got any use for a back-number old place like this. We can't + take them round in autos, nor give them a chance at cards, for Jack + couldn't pay if he lost, and Jack is awful honorable. We can't have the + right kind of folks here for any fun. I don't propose to ask the rector + and his wife, and old Mr. Harvey, or people like the Leaches.” + </p> + <p> + “The Leaches are a very good old family,” said Margaret, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care for good old families when they are so slow,” retorted + Camille. “The fellers we could have here, if we were rich enough, come + from fine families, but they are up-to-date. It's no use hanging on to old + silver dishes we never use and that I don't intend to spoil my hands + shining. Poor Jack don't have much fun, anyway. If he wants that trotter—he + says it's going dirt cheap—I think it's mean he can't have it, + instead of your hanging on to a lot of out-of-style old silver; so there.” + </p> + <p> + Two generations ago there had been French blood in Camille's family. She + put on her clothes beautifully; she had a dark, rather fine-featured, + alert little face, which gave a wrong impression, for she was essentially + vulgar. Sometimes poor Margaret Lee wished that Camille had been + definitely vicious, if only she might be possessed of more of the + characteristics of breeding. Camille so irritated Margaret in those + somewhat abstruse traits called sensibilities that she felt as if she were + living with a sort of spiritual nutmeg-grater. Seldom did Camille speak + that she did not jar Margaret, although unconsciously. Camille meant to be + kind to the stout woman, whom she pitied as far as she was capable of + pitying without understanding. She realized that it must be horrible to be + no longer young, and so stout that one was fairly monstrous, but how + horrible she could not with her mentality conceive. Jack also meant to be + kind. He was not of the brutal—that is, intentionally brutal—type, + but he had a shrewd eye to the betterment of himself, and no realization + of the torture he inflicted upon those who opposed that betterment. + </p> + <p> + For a long time matters had been worse than usual financially in the Lee + house. The sisters had been left in charge of the sadly dwindled estate, + and had depended upon the judgment, or lack of judgment, of Jack. He + approved of taking your chances and striking for larger income. The few + good old grandfather securities had been sold, and wild ones from the very + jungle of commerce had been substituted. Jack, like most of his type, + while shrewd, was as credulous as a child. He lied himself, and expected + all men to tell him the truth. Camille at his bidding mortgaged the old + place, and Margaret dared not oppose. Taxes were not paid; interest was + not paid; credit was exhausted. Then the house was put up at public + auction, and brought little more than sufficient to pay the creditors. + Jack took the balance and staked it in a few games of chance, and of + course lost. The weary trotter stumbled one day and had to be shot. Jack + became desperate. He frightened Camille. He was suddenly morose. He bade + Camille pack, and Margaret also, and they obeyed. Camille stowed away her + crumpled finery in the bulging old trunks, and Margaret folded daintily + her few remnants of past treasures. She had an old silk gown or two, which + resisted with their rich honesty the inroads of time, and a few pieces of + old lace, which Camille understood no better than she understood their + owner. + </p> + <p> + Then Margaret and the Desmonds went to the city and lived in a horrible, + tawdry little flat in a tawdry locality. Jack roared with bitter mirth + when he saw poor Margaret forced to enter her tiny room sidewise; Camille + laughed also, although she chided Jack gently. “Mean of you to make fun of + poor Margaret, Jacky dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + For a few weeks Margaret's life in that flat was horrible; then it became + still worse. Margaret nearly filled with her weary, ridiculous bulk her + little room, and she remained there most of the time, although it was + sunny and noisy, its one window giving on a courtyard strung with + clothes-lines and teeming with boisterous life. Camille and Jack went + trolley-riding, and made shift to entertain a little, merry but + questionable people, who gave them passes to vaudeville and entertained in + their turn until the small hours. Unquestionably these people suggested to + Jack Desmond the scheme which spelled tragedy to Margaret. + </p> + <p> + She always remembered one little dark man with keen eyes who had seen her + disappearing through her door of a Sunday night when all these gay, + bedraggled birds were at liberty and the fun ran high. “Great Scott!” the + man had said, and Margaret had heard him demand of Jack that she be + recalled. She obeyed, and the man was introduced, also the other members + of the party. Margaret Lee stood in the midst of this throng and heard + their repressed titters of mirth at her appearance. Everybody there was in + good humor with the exception of Jack, who was still nursing his bad luck, + and the little dark man, whom Jack owed. The eyes of Jack and the little + dark man made Margaret cold with a terror of something, she knew not what. + Before that terror the shame and mortification of her exhibition to that + merry company was of no import. + </p> + <p> + She stood among them, silent, immense, clad in her dark purple silk gown + spread over a great hoopskirt. A real lace collar lay softly over her + enormous, billowing shoulders; real lace ruffles lay over her great, + shapeless hands. Her face, the delicacy of whose features was veiled with + flesh, flushed and paled. Not even flesh could subdue the sad brilliancy + of her dark-blue eyes, fixed inward upon her own sad state, unregardful of + the company. She made an indefinite murmur of response to the salutations + given her, and then retreated. She heard the roar of laughter after she + had squeezed through the door of her room. Then she heard eager + conversation, of which she did not catch the real import, but which + terrified her with chance expressions. She was quite sure that she was the + subject of that eager discussion. She was quite sure that it boded her no + good. + </p> + <p> + In a few days she knew the worst; and the worst was beyond her utmost + imaginings. This was before the days of moving-picture shows; it was the + day of humiliating spectacles of deformities, when inventions of + amusements for the people had not progressed. It was the day of + exhibitions of sad freaks of nature, calculated to provoke tears rather + than laughter in the healthy-minded, and poor Margaret Lee was a chosen + victim. Camille informed her in a few words of her fate. Camille was sorry + for her, although not in the least understanding why she was sorry. She + realized dimly that Margaret would be distressed, but she was unable from + her narrow point of view to comprehend fully the whole tragedy. + </p> + <p> + “Jack has gone broke,” stated Camille. “He owes Bill Stark a pile, and he + can't pay a cent of it; and Jack's sense of honor about a poker debt is + about the biggest thing in his character. Jack has got to pay. And Bill + has a little circus, going to travel all summer, and he's offered big + money for you. Jack can pay Bill what he owes him, and we'll have enough + to live on, and have lots of fun going around. You hadn't ought to make a + fuss about it.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret, pale as death, stared at the girl, pertly slim, and common and + pretty, who stared back laughingly, although still with the glimmer of + uncomprehending pity in her black eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What does—he—want—me—for?” gasped Margaret. + </p> + <p> + “For a show, because you are so big,” replied Camille. “You will make us + all rich, Margaret. Ain't it nice?” + </p> + <p> + Then Camille screamed, the shrill raucous scream of the women of her type, + for Margaret had fallen back in a dead faint, her immense bulk inert in + her chair. Jack came running in alarm. Margaret had suddenly gained value + in his shrewd eyes. He was as pale as she. + </p> + <p> + Finally Margaret raised her head, opened her miserable eyes, and regained + her consciousness of herself and what lay before her. There was no course + open but submission. She knew that from the first. All three faced + destitution; she was the one financial asset, she and her poor flesh. She + had to face it, and with what dignity she could muster. + </p> + <p> + Margaret had great piety. She kept constantly before her mental vision the + fact in which she believed, that the world which she found so hard, and + which put her to unspeakable torture, was not all. + </p> + <p> + A week elapsed before the wretched little show of which she was to be a + member went on the road, and night after night she prayed. She besieged + her God for strength. She never prayed for respite. Her realization of the + situation and her lofty resolution prevented that. The awful, ridiculous + combat was before her; there was no evasion; she prayed only for the + strength which leads to victory. + </p> + <p> + However, when the time came, it was all worse than she had imagined. How + could a woman gently born and bred conceive of the horrible ignominy of + such a life? She was dragged hither and yon, to this and that little town. + She traveled through sweltering heat on jolting trains; she slept in + tents; she lived—she, Margaret Lee—on terms of equality with + the common and the vulgar. Daily her absurd unwieldiness was exhibited to + crowds screaming with laughter. Even her faith wavered. It seemed to her + that there was nothing for evermore beyond those staring, jeering faces of + silly mirth and delight at sight of her, seated in two chairs, clad in a + pink spangled dress, her vast shoulders bare and sparkling with a tawdry + necklace, her great, bare arms covered with brass bracelets, her hands + incased in short, white kid gloves, over the fingers of which she wore a + number of rings—stage properties. + </p> + <p> + Margaret became a horror to herself. At times it seemed to her that she + was in the way of fairly losing her own identity. It mattered little that + Camille and Jack were very kind to her, that they showed her the nice + things which her terrible earnings had enabled them to have. She sat in + her two chairs—the two chairs proved a most successful advertisement—with + her two kid-cushiony hands clenched in her pink spangled lap, and she + suffered agony of soul, which made her inner self stern and terrible, + behind that great pink mask of face. And nobody realized until one sultry + day when the show opened at a village in a pocket of green hills—indeed, + its name was Greenhill—and Sydney Lord went to see it. + </p> + <p> + Margaret, who had schooled herself to look upon her audience as if they + were not, suddenly comprehended among them another soul who understood her + own. She met the eyes of the man, and a wonderful comfort, as of a cool + breeze blowing over the face of clear water, came to her. She knew that + the man understood. She knew that she had his fullest sympathy. She saw + also a comrade in the toils of comic tragedy, for Sydney Lord was in the + same case. He was a mountain of flesh. As a matter of fact, had he not + been known in Greenhill and respected as a man of weight of character as + well as of body, and of an old family, he would have rivaled Margaret. + Beside him sat an elderly woman, sweet-faced, slightly bent as to her + slender shoulders, as if with a chronic attitude of submission. She was + Sydney's widowed sister, Ellen Waters. She lived with her brother and kept + his house, and had no will other than his. + </p> + <p> + Sydney Lord and his sister remained when the rest of the audience had + drifted out, after the privileged hand-shakes with the queen of the show. + Every time a coarse, rustic hand reached familiarly after Margaret's, + Sydney shrank. + </p> + <p> + He motioned his sister to remain seated when he approached the stage. Jack + Desmond, who had been exploiting Margaret, gazed at him with admiring + curiosity. Sydney waved him away with a commanding gesture. “I wish to + speak to her a moment. Pray leave the tent,” he said, and Jack obeyed. + People always obeyed Sydney Lord. + </p> + <p> + Sydney stood before Margaret, and he saw the clear crystal, which was + herself, within all the flesh, clad in tawdry raiment, and she knew that + he saw it. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” said Sydney, “you are a lady!” + </p> + <p> + He continued to gaze at her, and his eyes, large and brown, became + blurred; at the same time his mouth tightened. + </p> + <p> + “How came you to be in such a place as this?” demanded Sydney. He spoke + almost as if he were angry with her. + </p> + <p> + Margaret explained briefly. + </p> + <p> + “It is an outrage,” declared Sydney. He said it, however, rather absently. + He was reflecting. “Where do you live?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Here.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—?” + </p> + <p> + “They make up a bed for me here, after the people have gone.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you had—before this—a comfortable house.” + </p> + <p> + “The house which my grandfather Lee owned, the old Lee mansion-house, + before we went to the city. It was a very fine old Colonial house,” + explained Margaret, in her finely modulated voice. + </p> + <p> + “And you had a good room?” + </p> + <p> + “The southeast chamber had always been mine. It was very large, and the + furniture was old Spanish mahogany.” + </p> + <p> + “And now—” said Sydney. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Margaret. She looked at him, and her serious blue eyes seemed + to see past him. “It will not last,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I try to learn a lesson. I am a child in the school of God. My lesson is + one that always ends in peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” said Sydney. + </p> + <p> + He motioned to his sister, and Ellen approached in a frightened fashion. + Her brother could do no wrong, but this was the unusual, and alarmed her. + </p> + <p> + “This lady—” began Sydney. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lee,” said Margaret. “I was never married. I am Miss Margaret Lee.” + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Sydney, “is my sister Ellen, Mrs. Waters. Ellen, I wish you + to meet Miss Lee.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen took into her own Margaret's hand, and said feebly that it was a + beautiful day and she hoped Miss Lee found Greenhill a pleasant place to—visit. + </p> + <p> + Sydney moved slowly out of the tent and found Jack Desmond. He was + standing near with Camille, who looked her best in a pale-blue summer silk + and a black hat trimmed with roses. Jack and Camille never really knew how + the great man had managed, but presently Margaret had gone away with him + and his sister. + </p> + <p> + Jack and Camille looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jack, ought you to have let her go?” said Camille. + </p> + <p> + “What made you let her go?” asked Jack. + </p> + <p> + “I—don't know. I couldn't say anything. That man has a tremendous + way with him. Goodness!” + </p> + <p> + “He is all right here in the place, anyhow,” said Jack. “They look up to + him. He is a big-bug here. Comes of a family like Margaret's, though he + hasn't got much money. Some chaps were braggin' that they had a bigger + show than her right here, and I found out.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” said Camille, “Margaret does not come back?” + </p> + <p> + “He could not keep her without bein' arrested,” declared Jack, but he + looked uneasy. He had, however, looked uneasy for some time. The fact was, + Margaret had been very gradually losing weight. Moreover, she was not + well. That very night, after the show was over, Bill Stark, the little + dark man, had a talk with the Desmonds about it. + </p> + <p> + “Truth is, before long, if you don't look out, you'll have to pad her,” + said Bill; “and giants don't amount to a row of pins after that begins.” + </p> + <p> + Camille looked worried and sulky. “She ain't very well, anyhow,” said she. + “I ain't going to kill Margaret.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a good thing she's got a chance to have a night's rest in a house,” + said Bill Stark. + </p> + <p> + “The fat man has asked her to stay with him and his sister while the show + is here,” said Jack. + </p> + <p> + “The sister invited her,” said Camille, with a little stiffness. She was + common, but she had lived with Lees, and her mother had married a Lee. She + knew what was due Margaret, and also due herself. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is,” said Camille, “this is an awful sort of life for a woman + like Margaret. She and her folks were never used to anything like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you make your beauty husband hustle and take care of her and + you, then?” demanded Bill, who admired Camille, and disliked her because + she had no eyes for him. + </p> + <p> + “My husband has been unfortunate. He has done the best he could,” + responded Camille. “Come, Jack; no use talking about it any longer. Guess + Margaret will pick up. Come along. I'm tired out.” + </p> + <p> + That night Margaret Lee slept in a sweet chamber with muslin curtains at + the windows, in a massive old mahogany bed, much like hers which had been + sacrificed at an auction sale. The bed-linen was linen, and smelled of + lavender. Margaret was too happy to sleep. She lay in the cool, fragrant + sheets and was happy, and convinced of the presence of the God to whom she + had prayed. All night Sydney Lord sat down-stairs in his book-walled + sanctum and studied over the situation. It was a crucial one. The great + psychological moment of Sydney Lord's life for knight-errantry had + arrived. He studied the thing from every point of view. There was no + romance about it. These were hard, sordid, tragic, ludicrous facts with + which he had to deal. He knew to a nicety the agonies which Margaret + suffered. He knew, because of his own capacity for sufferings of like + stress. “And she is a woman and a lady,” he said, aloud. + </p> + <p> + If Sydney had been rich enough, the matter would have been simple. He + could have paid Jack and Camille enough to quiet them, and Margaret could + have lived with him and his sister and their two old servants. But he was + not rich; he was even poor. The price to be paid for Margaret's liberty + was a bitter one, but it was that or nothing. Sydney faced it. He looked + about the room. To him the walls lined with the dull gleams of old books + were lovely. There was an oil portrait of his mother over the + mantel-shelf. The weather was warm now, and there was no need for a hearth + fire, but how exquisitely home-like and dear that room could be when the + snow drove outside and there was the leap of flame on the hearth! Sydney + was a scholar and a gentleman. He had led a gentle and sequestered life. + Here in his native village there were none to gibe and sneer. The contrast + of the traveling show would be as great for him as it had been for + Margaret, but he was the male of the species, and she the female. + Chivalry, racial, harking back to the beginning of nobility in the human, + to its earliest dawn, fired Sydney. The pale daylight invaded the study. + Sydney, as truly as any knight of old, had girded himself, and with no + hope, no thought of reward, for the battle in the eternal service of the + strong for the weak, which makes the true worth of the strong. + </p> + <p> + There was only one way. Sydney Lord took it. His sister was spared the + knowledge of the truth for a long while. When she knew, she did not + lament; since Sydney had taken the course, it must be right. As for + Margaret, not knowing the truth, she yielded. She was really on the verge + of illness. Her spirit was of too fine a strain to enable her body to + endure long. When she was told that she was to remain with Sydney's sister + while Sydney went away on business, she made no objection. A wonderful + sense of relief, as of wings of healing being spread under her despair, + was upon her. Camille came to bid her good-by. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you have a nice visit in this lovely house,” said Camille, and + kissed her. Camille was astute, and to be trusted. She did not betray + Sydney's confidence. Sydney used a disguise—a dark wig over his + partially bald head and a little make-up-and he traveled about with the + show and sat on three chairs, and shook hands with the gaping crowd, and + was curiously happy. It was discomfort; it was ignominy; it was maddening + to support by the exhibition of his physical deformity a perfectly + worthless young couple like Jack and Camille Desmond, but it was all + superbly ennobling for the man himself. + </p> + <p> + Always as he sat on his three chairs, immense, grotesque—the more + grotesque for his splendid dignity of bearing—there was in his soul + of a gallant gentleman the consciousness of that other, whom he was + shielding from a similar ordeal. Compassion and generosity, so great that + they comprehended love itself and excelled its highest type, irradiated + the whole being of the fat man exposed to the gaze of his inferiors. + Chivalry, which rendered him almost god-like, strengthened him for his + task. Sydney thought always of Margaret as distinct from her physical + self, a sort of crystalline, angelic soul, with no encumbrance of earth. + He achieved a purely spiritual conception of her. And Margaret, living + again her gentle lady life, was likewise ennobled by a gratitude which + transformed her. Always a clear and beautiful soul, she gave out new + lights of character like a jewel in the sun. And she also thought of + Sydney as distinct from his physical self. The consciousness of the two + human beings, one of the other, was a consciousness as of two wonderful + lines of good and beauty, moving for ever parallel, separate, and + inseparable in an eternal harmony of spirit. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CORONATION + </h2> + <p> + JIM BENNET had never married. He had passed middle life, and possessed + considerable property. Susan Adkins kept house for him. She was a widow + and a very distant relative. Jim had two nieces, his brother's daughters. + One, Alma Beecher, was married; the other, Amanda, was not. The nieces had + naively grasping views concerning their uncle and his property. They + stated freely that they considered him unable to care for it; that a + guardian should be appointed and the property be theirs at once. They + consulted Lawyer Thomas Hopkinson with regard to it; they discoursed at + length upon what they claimed to be an idiosyncrasy of Jim's, denoting + failing mental powers. + </p> + <p> + “He keeps a perfect slew of cats, and has a coal fire for them in the + woodshed all winter,” said Amanda. + </p> + <p> + “Why in thunder shouldn't he keep a fire in the woodshed if he wants to?” + demanded Hopkinson. “I know of no law against it. And there isn't a law in + the country regulating the number of cats a man can keep.” Thomas + Hopkinson, who was an old friend of Jim's, gave his prominent chin an + upward jerk as he sat in his office arm-chair before his clients. + </p> + <p> + “There is something besides cats,” said Alma + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “He talks to himself.” + </p> + <p> + “What in creation do you expect the poor man to do? He can't talk to Susan + Adkins about a blessed thing except tidies and pincushions. That woman + hasn't a thought in her mind outside her soul's salvation and fancy-work. + Jim has to talk once in a while to keep himself a man. What if he does + talk to himself? I talk to myself. Next thing you will want to be + appointed guardian over me, Amanda.” + </p> + <p> + Hopkinson was a bachelor, and Amanda flushed angrily. + </p> + <p> + “He wasn't what I call even gentlemanly,” she told Alma, when the two were + on their way home. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Tom Hopkinson thought you were setting your cap at him,” + retorted Alma. She relished the dignity of her married state, and enjoyed + giving her spinster sister little claws when occasion called. However, + Amanda had a temper of her own, and she could claw back. + </p> + <p> + “YOU needn't talk,” said she. “You only took Joe Beecher when you had + given up getting anybody better. You wanted Tom Hopkinson yourself. I + haven't forgotten that blue silk dress you got and wore to meeting. You + needn't talk. You know you got that dress just to make Tom look at you, + and he didn't. You needn't talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't have married Tom Hopkinson if he had been the only man on the + face of the earth,” declared Alma with dignity; but she colored hotly. + </p> + <p> + Amanda sniffed. “Well, as near as I can find out Uncle Jim can go on + talking to himself and keeping cats, and we can't do anything,” said she. + </p> + <p> + When the two women were home, they told Alma's husband, Joe Beecher, about + their lack of success. They were quite heated with their walk and + excitement. “I call it a shame,” said Alma. “Anybody knows that poor Uncle + Jim would be better off with a guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Amanda. “What man that had a grain of horse sense would + do such a crazy thing as to keep a coal fire in a woodshed?” + </p> + <p> + “For such a slew of cats, too,” said Alma, nodding fiercely. + </p> + <p> + Alma's husband, Joe Beecher, spoke timidly and undecidedly in the defense. + “You know,” he said, “that Mrs. Adkins wouldn't have those cats in the + house, and cats mostly like to sit round where it's warm.” + </p> + <p> + His wife regarded him. Her nose wrinkled. “I suppose next thing YOU'LL be + wanting to have a cat round where it's warm, right under my feet, with all + I have to do,” said she. Her voice had an actual acidity of sound. + </p> + <p> + Joe gasped. He was a large man with a constant expression of wondering + inquiry. It was the expression of his babyhood; he had never lost it, and + it was an expression which revealed truly the state of his mind. Always + had Joe Beecher wondered, first of all at finding himself in the world at + all, then at the various happenings of existence. He probably wondered + more about the fact of his marriage with Alma Bennet than anything else, + although he never betrayed his wonder. He was always painfully anxious to + please his wife, of whom he stood in awe. Now he hastened to reply: “Why, + no, Alma; of course I won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Alma, “I haven't come to my time of life, through all the + trials I've had, to be taking any chances of breaking my bones over any + miserable, furry, four-footed animal that wouldn't catch a mouse if one + run right under her nose.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want any cat,” repeated Joe, miserably. His fear and awe of the + two women increased. When his sister-in-law turned upon him he fairly + cringed. + </p> + <p> + “Cats!” said Amanda. Then she sniffed. The sniff was worse than speech. + </p> + <p> + Joe repeated in a mumble that he didn't want any cats, and went out, + closing the door softly after him, as he had been taught. However, he was + entirely sure, in the depths of his subjugated masculine mind, that his + wife and her sister had no legal authority whatever to interfere with + their uncle's right to keep a hundred coal fires in his woodshed, for a + thousand cats. He always had an inner sense of glee when he heard the two + women talk over the matter. Once Amanda had declared that she did not + believe that Tom Hopkinson knew much about law, anyway. + </p> + <p> + “He seems to stand pretty high,” Joe ventured with the utmost mildness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he does,” admitted Alma, grudgingly. + </p> + <p> + “It does not follow he knows law,” persisted Amanda, “and it MAY follow + that he likes cats. There was that great Maltese tommy brushing round all + the time we were in his office, but I didn't dare shoo him off for fear it + might be against the law.” Amanda laughed, a very disagreeable little + laugh. Joe said nothing, but inwardly he chuckled. It was the cause of man + with man. He realized a great, even affectionate, understanding of Jim. + </p> + <p> + The day after his nieces had visited the lawyer's office, Jim was + preparing to call on his friend Edward Hayward, the minister. Before + leaving he looked carefully after the fire in the woodshed. The stove was + large. Jim piled on the coal, regardless outwardly that the housekeeper, + Susan Adkins, had slammed the kitchen door to indicate her contempt. + Inwardly Jim felt hurt, but he had felt hurt so long from the same cause + that the sensation had become chronic, and was borne with a gentle + patience. Moreover, there was something which troubled him more and was + the reason for his contemplated call on his friend. He evened the coals on + the fire with great care, and replenished from the pail in the icebox the + cats' saucers. There was a circle of clean white saucers around the stove. + Jim owned many cats; counting the kittens, there were probably over + twenty. Mrs. Adkins counted them in the sixties. “Those sixty-seven cats,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + Jim often gave away cats when he was confident of securing good homes, but + supply exceeded the demand. Now and then tragedies took place in that + woodshed. Susan Adkins came bravely to the front upon these occasions. + Quite convinced was Susan Adkins that she had a good home, and it behooved + her to keep it, and she did not in the least object to drowning, now and + then, a few very young kittens. She did this with neatness and despatch + while Jim walked to the store on an errand and was supposed to know + nothing about it. There was simply not enough room in his woodshed for the + accumulation of cats, although his heart could have held all. + </p> + <p> + That day, as he poured out the milk, cats of all ages and sizes and colors + purred in a softly padding multitude around his feet, and he regarded them + with love. There were tiger cats, Maltese cats, black-and-white cats, + black cats and white cats, tommies and females, and his heart leaped to + meet the pleading mews of all. The saucers were surrounded. Little pink + tongues lapped. “Pretty pussy! pretty pussy!” cooed Jim, addressing them + in general. He put on his overcoat and hat, which he kept on a peg behind + the door. Jim had an arm-chair in the woodshed. He always sat there when + he smoked; Susan Adkins demurred at his smoking in the house, which she + kept so nice, and Jim did not dream of rebellion. He never questioned the + right of a woman to bar tobacco smoke from a house. Before leaving he + refilled some of the saucers. He was not sure that all of the cats were + there; some might be afield, hunting, and he wished them to find + refreshment when they returned. He stroked the splendid striped back of a + great tiger tommy which filled his armchair. This cat was his special pet. + He fastened the outer shed door with a bit of rope in order that it might + not blow entirely open, and yet allow his feline friends to pass, should + they choose. Then he went out. + </p> + <p> + The day was clear, with a sharp breath of frost. The fields gleamed with + frost, offering to the eye a fine shimmer as of diamond-dust under the + brilliant blue sky, overspread in places with a dapple of little white + clouds. + </p> + <p> + “White frost and mackerel sky; going to be falling weather,” Jim said, + aloud, as he went out of the yard, crunching the crisp grass under heel. + </p> + <p> + Susan Adkins at a window saw his lips moving. His talking to himself made + her nervous, although it did not render her distrustful of his sanity. It + was fortunate that Susan had not told Jim that she disliked his habit. In + that case he would have deprived himself of that slight solace; he would + not have dreamed of opposing Susan's wishes. Jim had a great pity for the + nervous whims, as he regarded them, of women—a pity so intense and + tender that it verged on respect and veneration. He passed his nieces' + house on the way to the minister's, and both were looking out of windows + and saw his lips moving. + </p> + <p> + “There he goes, talking to himself like a crazy loon,” said Amanda. + </p> + <p> + Alma nodded. + </p> + <p> + Jim went on, blissfully unconscious. He talked in a quiet monotone; only + now and then his voice rose; only now and then there were accompanying + gestures. Jim had a straight mile down the broad village street to walk + before he reached the church and the parsonage beside it. + </p> + <p> + Jim and the minister had been friends since boyhood. They were graduates + and classmates of the same college. Jim had had unusual educational + advantages for a man coming from a simple family. The front door of the + parsonage flew open when Jim entered the gate, and the minister stood + there smiling. He was a tall, thin man with a wide mouth, which either + smiled charmingly or was set with severity. He was as brown and dry as a + wayside weed which winter had subdued as to bloom but could not entirely + prostrate with all its icy storms and compelling blasts. Jim, advancing + eagerly toward the warm welcome in the door, was a small man, and bent at + that, but he had a handsome old face, with the rose of youth on the cheeks + and the light of youth in the blue eyes, and the quick changes of youth, + before emotions, about the mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Jim!” cried Dr. Edward Hayward. Hayward, for a doctor of divinity, + was considered somewhat lacking in dignity at times; still, he was Dr. + Hayward, and the failing was condoned. Moreover, he was a Hayward, and the + Haywards had been, from the memory of the oldest inhabitant, the great + people of the village. Dr. Hayward's house was presided over by his + widowed cousin, a lady of enough dignity to make up for any lack of it in + the minister. There were three servants, besides the old butler who had + been Hayward's attendant when he had been a young man in college. Village + people were proud of their minister, with his degree and what they + considered an imposing household retinue. + </p> + <p> + Hayward led, and Jim followed, to the least pretentious room in the house—not + the study proper, which was lofty, book-lined, and leather-furnished, + curtained with broad sweeps of crimson damask, but a little shabby place + back of it, accessible by a narrow door. The little room was lined with + shelves; they held few books, but a collection of queer and dusty things—strange + weapons, minerals, odds and ends—which the minister loved and with + which his lady cousin never interfered. + </p> + <p> + “Louisa,” Hayward had told his cousin when she entered upon her post, “do + as you like with the whole house, but let my little study alone. Let it + look as if it had been stirred up with a garden-rake—that little + room is my territory, and no disgrace to you, my dear, if the dust rises + in clouds at every step.” + </p> + <p> + Jim was as fond of the little room as his friend. He entered, and sighed a + great sigh of satisfaction as he sank into the shabby, dusty hollow of a + large chair before the hearth fire. Immediately a black cat leaped into + his lap, gazed at him with greenjewel eyes, worked her paws, purred, + settled into a coil, and slept. Jim lit his pipe and threw the match + blissfully on the floor. Dr. Hayward set an electric coffee-urn at its + work, for the little room was a curious mixture of the comfortable old and + the comfortable modern. + </p> + <p> + “Sam shall serve our luncheon in here,” he said, with a staid glee. + </p> + <p> + Jim nodded happily. + </p> + <p> + “Louisa will not mind,” said Hayward. “She is precise, but she has a fine + regard for the rights of the individual, which is most commendable.” He + seated himself in a companion chair to Jim's, lit his own pipe, and threw + the match on the floor. Occasionally, when the minister was out, Sam, + without orders so to do, cleared the floor of matches. + </p> + <p> + Hayward smoked and regarded his friend, who looked troubled despite his + comfort. “What is it, Jim?” asked the minister at last. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how to do what is right for me to do,” replied the little + man, and his face, turned toward his friend, had the puzzled earnestness + of a child. + </p> + <p> + Hayward laughed. It was easily seen that his was the keener mind. In + natural endowments there had never been equality, although there was great + similarity of tastes. Jim, despite his education, often lapsed into the + homely vernacular of which he heard so much. An involuntarily imitative + man in externals was Jim, but essentially an original. Jim proceeded. + </p> + <p> + “You know, Edward, I have never been one to complain,” he said, with an + almost boyish note of apology. + </p> + <p> + “Never complained half enough; that's the trouble,” returned the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I overheard something Mis' Adkins said to Mis' Amos Trimmer the + other afternoon. Mis' Trimmer was calling on Mis' Adkins. I couldn't help + overhearing unless I went outdoors, and it was snowing and I had a cold. I + wasn't listening.” + </p> + <p> + “Had a right to listen if you wanted to,” declared Hayward, irascibly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I couldn't help it unless I went outdoors. Mis' Adkins she was in + the kitchen making lightbread for supper, and Mis' Trimmer had sat right + down there with her. Mis' Adkins's kitchen is as clean as a parlor, + anyway. Mis' Adkins said to Mis' Trimmer, speaking of me—because + Mis' Trimmer had just asked where I was and Mis' Adkins had said I was out + in the woodshed sitting with the cats and smoking—Mis' Adkins said, + 'He's just a doormat, that's what he is.' Then Mis' Trimmer says, 'The way + he lets folks ride over him beats me.' Then Mis' Adkins says again: 'He's + nothing but a door-mat. He lets everybody that wants to just trample on + him and grind their dust into him, and he acts real pleased and + grateful.'” + </p> + <p> + Hayward's face flushed. “Did Mrs. Adkins mention that she was one of the + people who used you for a door-mat?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Jim threw back his head and laughed like a child, with the sweetest sense + of unresentful humor. “Lord bless my soul, Edward,” replied Jim, “I don't + believe she ever thought of that.” + </p> + <p> + “And at that very minute you, with a hard cold, were sitting out in that + draughty shed smoking because she wouldn't allow you to smoke in your own + house!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind that, Edward,” said Jim, and laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “Could you see to read your paper out there, with only that little shed + window? And don't you like to read your paper while you smoke?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” admitted Jim; “but my! I don't mind little things like that! + Mis' Adkins is only a poor widow woman, and keeping my house nice and not + having it smell of tobacco is all she's got. They can talk about women's + rights—I feel as if they ought to have them fast enough, if they + want them, poor things; a woman has a hard row to hoe, and will have, if + she gets all the rights in creation. But I guess the rights they'd find it + hardest to give up would be the rights to have men look after them just a + little more than they look after other men, just because they are women. + When I think of Annie Berry—the girl I was going to marry, you know, + if she hadn't died—I feel as if I couldn't do enough for another + woman. Lord! I'm glad to sit out in the woodshed and smoke. Mis' Adkins is + pretty good-natured to stand all the cats.” + </p> + <p> + Then the coffee boiled, and Hayward poured out some for Jim and himself. + He had a little silver service at hand, and willow-ware cups and saucers. + Presently Sam appeared, and Hayward gave orders concerning luncheon. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Miss Louisa we are to have it served here,” said he, “and mind, Sam, + the chops are to be thick and cooked the way we like them; and don't + forget the East India chutney, Sam.” + </p> + <p> + “It does seem rather a pity that you cannot have chutney at home with your + chops, when you are so fond of it,” remarked Hayward when Sam had gone. + </p> + <p> + “Mis' Adkins says it will give me liver trouble, and she isn't strong + enough to nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “So you have to eat her ketchup?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she doesn't put seasoning in it,” admitted Jim. “But Mis' Adkins + doesn't like seasoning herself, and I don't mind.” + </p> + <p> + “And I know the chops are never cut thick, the way we like them.” + </p> + <p> + “Mis' Adkins likes her meat well done, and she can't get such thick chops + well done. I suppose our chops are rather thin, but I don't mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Beefsteak and chops, both cut thin, and fried up like sole-leather. I + know!” said Dr. Hayward, and he stamped his foot with unregenerate force. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind a bit, Edward.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to mind, when it is your own house, and you buy the food and + pay your housekeeper. It is an outrage!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind, really, Edward.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Hayward regarded Jim with a curious expression compounded of love, + anger, and contempt. “Any more talk of legal proceedings?” he asked, + brusquely. + </p> + <p> + Jim flushed. “Tom ought not to tell of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he ought; he ought to tell it all over town. He doesn't, but he + ought. It is an outrage! Here you have been all these years supporting + your nieces, and they are working away like field-mice, burrowing under + your generosity, trying to get a chance to take action and appropriate + your property and have you put under a guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind a bit,” said Jim; “but—” + </p> + <p> + The other man looked inquiringly at him, and, seeing a pitiful working of + his friend's face, he jumped up and got a little jar from a shelf. “We + will drop the whole thing until we have had our chops and chutney,” said + he. “You are right; it is not worth minding. Here is a new brand of + tobacco I want you to try. I don't half like it, myself, but you may.” + </p> + <p> + Jim, with a pleased smile, reached out for the tobacco, and the two men + smoked until Sam brought the luncheon. It was well cooked and well served + on an antique table. Jim was thoroughly happy. It was not until the + luncheon was over and another pipe smoked that the troubled, perplexed + expression returned to his face. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Hayward, “out with it!” + </p> + <p> + “It is only the old affair about Alma and Amanda, but now it has taken on + a sort of new aspect.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by a new aspect?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems,” said Jim, slowly, “as if they were making it so I couldn't do + for them.” + </p> + <p> + Hayward stamped his foot. “That does sound new,” he said, dryly. “I never + thought Alma Beecher or Amanda Bennet ever objected to have you do for + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Jim, “perhaps they don't now, but they want me to do it in + their own way. They don't want to feel as if I was giving and they taking; + they want it to seem the other way round. You see, if I were to deed over + my property to them, and then they allowance me, they would feel as if + they were doing the giving.” + </p> + <p> + “Jim, you wouldn't be such a fool as that?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I wouldn't,” replied Jim, simply. “They wouldn't know how to take + care of it, and Mis' Adkins would be left to shift for herself. Joe + Beecher is real good-hearted, but he always lost every dollar he touched. + No, there wouldn't be any sense in that. I don't mean to give in, but I do + feel pretty well worked up over it.” + </p> + <p> + “What have they said to you?” + </p> + <p> + Jim hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Out with it, now. One thing you may be sure of: nothing that you can tell + me will alter my opinion of your two nieces for the worse. As for poor Joe + Beecher, there is no opinion, one way or the other. What did they say?” + </p> + <p> + Jim regarded his friend with a curiously sweet, far-off expression. + “Edward,” he said, “sometimes I believe that the greatest thing a man's + friends can do for him is to drive him into a corner with God; to be so + unjust to him that they make him understand that God is all that mortal + man is meant to have, and that is why he finds out that most people, + especially the ones he does for, don't care for him.” + </p> + <p> + Hayward looked solemnly and tenderly at the other's almost rapt face. “You + are right, I suppose, old man,” said he; “but what did they do?” + </p> + <p> + “They called me in there about a week ago and gave me an awful talking + to.” + </p> + <p> + “About what?” + </p> + <p> + Jim looked at his friend with dignity. “They were two women talking, and + they went into little matters not worth repeating,” said he. “All is-they + seemed to blame me for everything I had ever done for them, and for + everything I had ever done, anyway. They seemed to blame me for being born + and living, and, most of all, for doing anything for them.” + </p> + <p> + “It is an outrage!” declared Hayward. “Can't you see it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't seem to see anything plain about it,” returned Jim, in a + bewildered way. “I always supposed a man had to do something bad to be + given a talking to; but it isn't so much that, and I don't bear any malice + against them. They are only two women, and they are nervous. What worries + me is, they do need things, and they can't get on and be comfortable + unless I do for them; but if they are going to feel that way about it, it + seems to cut me off from doing, and that does worry me, Edward.” + </p> + <p> + The other man stamped. “Jim Bennet,” he said, “they have talked, and now I + am going to.” + </p> + <p> + “You, Edward?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am. It is entirely true what those two women, Susan Adkins and + Mrs. Trimmer, said about you. You ARE a door-mat, and you ought to be + ashamed of yourself for it. A man should be a man, and not a door-mat. It + is the worst thing in the world for people to walk over him and trample + him. It does them much more harm than it does him. In the end the trampler + is much worse off than the trampled upon. Jim Bennet, your being a doormat + may cost other people their souls' salvation. You are selfish in the grain + to be a door-mat.” + </p> + <p> + Jim turned pale. His child-like face looked suddenly old with his mental + effort to grasp the other's meaning. In fact, he was a child—one of + the little ones of the world—although he had lived the span of a + man's life. Now one of the hardest problems of the elders of the world was + presented to him. “You mean—” he said, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, Jim, that for the sake of other people, if not for your own sake, + you ought to stop being a door-mat and be a man in this world of men.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to go straight to those nieces of yours and tell them the + truth. You know what your wrongs are as well as I do. You know what those + two women are as well as I do. They keep the letter of the Ten + Commandments—that is right. They attend my church—that is + right. They scour the outside of the platter until it is bright enough to + blind those people who don't understand them; but inwardly they are petty, + ravening wolves of greed and ingratitude. Go and tell them; they don't + know themselves. Show them what they are. It is your Christian duty.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean for me to stop doing for them?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly do mean just that—for a while, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “They can't possibly get along, Edward; they will suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “They have a little money, haven't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a little in savings-bank. The interest pays their taxes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you gave them that?” + </p> + <p> + Jim colored. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, their taxes are paid for this year; let them use that money. + They will not suffer, except in their feelings, and that is where they + ought to suffer. Man, you would spoil all the work of the Lord by your + selfish tenderness toward sinners!” + </p> + <p> + “They aren't sinners.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they are—spiritual sinners, the worst kind in the world. Now—” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean for me to go now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do—now. If you don't go now you never will. Then, afterward, + I want you to go home and sit in your best parlor and smoke, and have all + your cats in there, too.” + </p> + <p> + Jim gasped. “But, Edward! Mis' Adkins—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care about Mrs. Adkins. She isn't as bad as the rest, but she + needs her little lesson, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Edward, the way that poor woman works to keep the house nice—and + she don't like the smell of tobacco smoke.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind whether she likes it or not. You smoke.” + </p> + <p> + “And she don't like cats.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Now you go.” + </p> + <p> + Jim stood up. There was a curious change in his rosy, child-like face. + There was a species of quickening. He looked at once older and more alert. + His friend's words had charged him as with electricity. When he went down + the street he looked taller. + </p> + <p> + Amanda Bennet and Alma Beecher, sitting sewing at their street windows, + made this mistake. + </p> + <p> + “That isn't Uncle Jim,” said Amanda. “That man is a head taller, but he + looks a little like him.” + </p> + <p> + “It can't be Uncle Jim,” agreed Alma. Then both started. + </p> + <p> + “It is Uncle Jim, and he is coming here,” said Amanda. + </p> + <p> + Jim entered. Nobody except himself, his nieces, and Joe Beecher ever knew + exactly what happened, what was the aspect of the door-mat erected to + human life, of the worm turned to menace. It must have savored of horror, + as do all meek and downtrodden things when they gain, driven to bay, the + strength to do battle. It must have savored of the god-like, when the man + who had borne with patience, dignity, and sorrow for them the stings of + lesser things because they were lesser things, at last arose and revealed + himself superior, with a great height of the spirit, with the power to + crush. + </p> + <p> + When Jim stopped talking and went home, two pale, shocked faces of women + gazed after him from the windows. Joe Beecher was sobbing like a child. + Finally his wife turned her frightened face upon him, glad to have still + some one to intimidate. + </p> + <p> + “For goodness' sake, Joe Beecher, stop crying like a baby,” said she, but + she spoke in a queer whisper, for her lips were stiff. + </p> + <p> + Joe stood up and made for the door. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” asked his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Going to get a job somewhere,” replied Joe, and went. Soon the women saw + him driving a neighbor's cart up the street. + </p> + <p> + “He's going to cart gravel for John Leach's new sidewalk!” gasped Alma. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you stop him?” cried her sister. “You can't have your husband + driving a tip-cart for John Leach. Stop him, Alma!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't stop him,” moaned Alma. “I don't feel as if I could stop + anything.” + </p> + <p> + Her sister gazed at her, and the same expression was on both faces, making + them more than sisters of the flesh. Both saw before them a stern boundary + wall against which they might press in vain for the rest of their lives, + and both saw the same sins of their hearts. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Jim Bennet was seated in his best parlor and Susan Adkins was + whispering to Mrs. Trimmer out in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether he's gone stark, staring mad or not,” whispered + Susan, “but he's in the parlor smoking his worst old pipe, and that big + tiger tommy is sitting in his lap, and he's let in all the other cats, and + they're nosing round, and I don't dare drive 'em out. I took up the broom, + then I put it away again. I never knew Mr. Bennet to act so. I can't think + what's got into him.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say anything?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn't say much of anything, but he said it in a way that made my + flesh fairly creep. Says he, 'As long as this is my house and my furniture + and my cats, Mis' Adkins, I think I'll sit down in the parlor, where I can + see to read my paper and smoke at the same time.' Then he holds the + kitchen door open, and he calls, 'Kitty, kitty, kitty!' and that great + tiger tommy comes in with his tail up, rubbing round his legs, and all the + other cats followed after. I shut the door before these last ones got into + the parlor.” Susan Adkins regarded malevolently the three tortoise-shell + cats of three generations and various stages of growth, one Maltese + settled in a purring round of comfort with four kittens, and one perfectly + black cat, which sat glaring at her with beryl-colored eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That black cat looks evil,” said Mrs. Trimmer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he does. I don't know why I didn't drown him when he was a kitten.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you drown all those Malty kittens?” + </p> + <p> + “The old cat hid them away until they were too big. Then he wouldn't let + me. What do you suppose has come to him? Just smell that awful pipe!” + </p> + <p> + “Men do take queer streaks every now and then,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “My + husband used to, and he was as good as they make 'em, poor man. He would + eat sugar on his beefsteak, for one thing. The first time I saw him do it + I was scared. I thought he was plum crazy, but afterward I found out it + was just because he was a man, and his ma hadn't wanted him to eat sugar + when he was a boy. Mr. Bennet will get over it.” + </p> + <p> + “He don't act as if he would.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, he will. Jim Bennet never stuck to anything but being Jim Bennet + for very long in his life, and this ain't being Jim Bennet.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a very good man,” said Susan with a somewhat apologetic tone. + </p> + <p> + “He's too good.” + </p> + <p> + “He's too good to cats.” + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me he's too good to 'most everybody. Think what he has done for + Amanda and Alma, and how they act!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they are ungrateful and real mean to him; and I feel sometimes as if + I would like to tell them just what I think of them,” said Susan Adkins. + “Poor man, there he is, studying all the time what he can do for people, + and he don't get very much himself.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trimmer arose to take leave. She had a long, sallow face, capable of + a sarcastic smile. “Then,” said she, “if I were you I wouldn't begrudge + him a chair in the parlor and a chance to read and smoke and hold a + pussy-cat.” + </p> + <p> + “Who said I was begrudging it? I can air out the parlor when he's got over + the notion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he will, so you needn't worry,” said Mrs. Trimmer. As she went down + the street she could see Jim's profile beside the parlor window, and she + smiled her sarcastic smile, which was not altogether unpleasant. “He's + stopped smoking, and he ain't reading,” she told herself. “It won't be + very long before he's Jim Bennet again.” + </p> + <p> + But it was longer than she anticipated, for Jim's will was propped by + Edward Hayward's. Edward kept Jim to his standpoint for weeks, until a few + days before Christmas. Then came self-assertion, that self-assertion of + negation which was all that Jim possessed in such a crisis. He called upon + Dr. Hayward; the two were together in the little study for nearly an hour, + and talk ran high, then Jim prevailed. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use, Edward,” he said; “a man can't be made over when he's cut + and dried in one fashion, the way I am. Maybe I'm doing wrong, but to me + it looks like doing right, and there's something in the Bible about every + man having his own right and wrong. If what you say is true, and I am + hindering the Lord Almighty in His work, then it is for Him to stop me. He + can do it. But meantime I've got to go on doing the way I always have. Joe + has been trying to drive that tip-cart, and the horse ran away with him + twice. Then he let the cart fall on his foot and mash one of his toes, and + he can hardly get round, and Amanda and Alma don't dare touch that money + in the bank for fear of not having enough to pay the taxes next year in + case I don't help them. They only had a little money on hand when I gave + them that talking to, and Christmas is 'most here, and they haven't got + things they really need. Amanda's coat that she wore to meeting last + Sunday didn't look very warm to me, and poor Alma had her furs chewed up + by the Leach dog, and she's going without any. They need lots of things. + And poor Mis' Adkins is 'most sick with tobacco smoke. I can see it, + though she doesn't say anything, and the nice parlor curtains are full of + it, and cat hairs are all over things. I can't hold out any longer, + Edward. Maybe I am a door-mat; and if I am, and it is wicked, may the Lord + forgive me, for I've got to keep right on being a door-mat.” + </p> + <p> + Hayward sighed and lighted his pipe. However, he had given up and connived + with Jim. + </p> + <p> + On Christmas eve the two men were in hiding behind a clump of cedars in + the front yard of Jim's nieces' house. They watched the expressman deliver + a great load of boxes and packages. Jim drew a breath of joyous relief. + </p> + <p> + “They are taking them in,” he whispered—“they are taking them in, + Edward!” + </p> + <p> + Hayward looked down at the dim face of the man beside him, and something + akin to fear entered his heart. He saw the face of a lifelong friend, but + he saw something in it which he had never recognized before. He saw the + face of one of the children of heaven, giving only for the sake of the + need of others, and glorifying the gifts with the love and pity of an + angel. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid they wouldn't take them!” whispered Jim, and his watching + face was beautiful, although it was only the face of a little, old man of + a little village, with no great gift of intellect. There was a full moon + riding high; the ground was covered with a glistening snow-level, over + which wavered wonderful shadows, as of wings. One great star prevailed + despite the silver might of the moon. To Hayward Jim's face seemed to + prevail, as that star, among all the faces of humanity. + </p> + <p> + Jim crept noiselessly toward a window, Hayward at his heels. The two could + see the lighted interior plainly. + </p> + <p> + “See poor Alma trying on her furs,” whispered Jim, in a rapture. “See + Amanda with her coat. They have found the money. See Joe heft the turkey.” + Suddenly he caught Hayward's arm, and the two crept away. Out on the road, + Jim fairly sobbed with pure delight. “Oh, Edward,” he said, “I am so + thankful they took the things! I was so afraid they wouldn't, and they + needed them! Oh, Edward, I am so thankful!” Edward pressed his friend's + arm. + </p> + <p> + When they reached Jim's house a great tiger-cat leaped to Jim's shoulder + with the silence and swiftness of a shadow. “He's always watching for me,” + said Jim, proudly. “Pussy! Pussy!” The cat began to purr loudly, and + rubbed his splendid head against the man's cheek. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Hayward, with something of awe in his tone, “that you + won't smoke in the parlor to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Edward, I really can't. Poor woman, she's got it all aired and + beautifully cleaned, and she's so happy over it. There's a good fire in + the shed, and I will sit there with the pussy-cats until I go to bed. Oh, + Edward, I am so thankful that they took the things!” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Jim.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night. You don't blame me, Edward?” + </p> + <p> + “Who am I to blame you, Jim? Good night.” + </p> + <p> + Hayward watched the little man pass along the path to the shed door. Jim's + back was slightly bent, but to his friend it seemed bent beneath a holy + burden of love and pity for all humanity, and the inheritance of the meek + seemed to crown that drooping old head. The door-mat, again spread freely + for the trampling feet of all who got comfort thereby, became a blessed + thing. The humble creature, despised and held in contempt like One greater + than he, giving for the sake of the needs of others, went along the narrow + foot-path through the snow. The minister took off his hat and stood + watching until the door was opened and closed and the little window + gleamed with golden light. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE AMETHYST COMB + </h2> + <p> + MISS JANE CAREW was at the railroad station waiting for the New York + train. She was about to visit her friend, Mrs. Viola Longstreet. With Miss + Carew was her maid, Margaret, a middleaged New England woman, attired in + the stiffest and most correct of maid-uniforms. She carried an old, large + sole-leather bag, and also a rather large sole-leather jewel-case. The + jewel-case, carried openly, was rather an unusual sight at a New England + railroad station, but few knew what it was. They concluded it to be + Margaret's special handbag. Margaret was a very tall, thin woman, + unbending as to carriage and expression. The one thing out of absolute + plumb about Margaret was her little black bonnet. That was askew. Time had + bereft the woman of so much hair that she could fasten no head-gear with + security, especially when the wind blew, and that morning there was a + stiff gale. Margaret's bonnet was cocked over one eye. Miss Carew noticed + it. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret, your bonnet is crooked,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Margaret straightened her bonnet, but immediately the bonnet veered again + to the side, weighted by a stiff jet aigrette. Miss Carew observed the + careen of the bonnet, realized that it was inevitable, and did not mention + it again. Inwardly she resolved upon the removal of the jet aigrette later + on. Miss Carew was slightly older than Margaret, and dressed in a style + somewhat beyond her age. Jane Carew had been alert upon the situation of + departing youth. She had eschewed gay colors and extreme cuts, and had her + bonnets made to order, because there were no longer anything but hats in + the millinery shop. The milliner in Wheaton, where Miss Carew lived, had + objected, for Jane Carew inspired reverence. + </p> + <p> + “A bonnet is too old for you. Miss Carew,” she said. “Women much older + than you wear hats.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust that I know what is becoming to a woman of my years, thank you. + Miss Waters,” Jane had replied, and the milliner had meekly taken her + order. + </p> + <p> + After Miss Carew had left, the milliner told her girls that she had never + seen a woman so perfectly crazy to look her age as Miss Carew. “And she a + pretty woman, too,” said the milliner; “as straight as an arrer, and slim, + and with all that hair, scarcely turned at all.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Carew, with all her haste to assume years, remained a pretty woman, + softly slim, with an abundance of dark hair, showing little gray. + Sometimes Jane reflected, uneasily, that it ought at her time of life to + be entirely gray. She hoped nobody would suspect her of dyeing it. She + wore it parted in the middle, folded back smoothly, and braided in a + compact mass on the top of her head. The style of her clothes was slightly + behind the fashion, just enough to suggest conservatism and age. She + carried a little silver-bound bag in one nicely gloved hand; with the + other she held daintily out of the dust of the platform her dress-skirt. A + glimpse of a silk frilled petticoat, of slender feet, and ankles + delicately slim, was visible before the onslaught of the wind. Jane Carew + made no futile effort to keep her skirts down before the wind-gusts. She + was so much of the gentlewoman that she could be gravely oblivious to the + exposure of her ankles. She looked as if she had never heard of ankles + when her black silk skirts lashed about them. She rose superbly above the + situation. For some abstruse reason Margaret's skirts were not affected by + the wind. They might have been weighted with buckram, although it was no + longer in general use. She stood, except for her veering bonnet, as + stiffly immovable as a wooden doll. + </p> + <p> + Miss Carew seldom left Wheaton. This visit to New York was an innovation. + Quite a crowd gathered about Jane's sole-leather trunk when it was dumped + on the platform by the local expressman. “Miss Carew is going to New + York,” one said to another, with much the same tone as if he had said, + “The great elm on the common is going to move into Dr. Jones's front + yard.” + </p> + <p> + When the train arrived, Miss Carew, followed by Margaret, stepped aboard + with a majestic disregard of ankles. She sat beside a window, and Margaret + placed the bag on the floor and held the jewel-case in her lap. The case + contained the Carew jewels. They were not especially valuable, although + they were rather numerous. There were cameos in brooches and heavy gold + bracelets; corals which Miss Carew had not worn since her young girlhood. + There were a set of garnets, some badly cut diamonds in ear-rings and + rings, some seed-pearl ornaments, and a really beautiful set of amethysts. + There were a necklace, two brooches—a bar and a circle—earrings, + a ring, and a comb. Each piece was charming, set in filigree gold with + seed-pearls, but perhaps of them all the comb was the best. It was a very + large comb. There was one great amethyst in the center of the top; on + either side was an intricate pattern of plums in small amethysts, and + seed-pearl grapes, with leaves and stems of gold. Margaret in charge of + the jewel-case was imposing. When they arrived in New York she confronted + everybody whom she met with a stony stare, which was almost accusative and + convictive of guilt, in spite of entire innocence on the part of the + person stared at. It was inconceivable that any mortal would have dared + lay violent hands upon that jewel-case under that stare. It would have + seemed to partake of the nature of grand larceny from Providence. + </p> + <p> + When the two reached the up-town residence of Viola Longstreet, Viola gave + a little scream at the sight of the case. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Jane Carew, here you are with Margaret carrying that jewel-case + out in plain sight. How dare you do such a thing? I really wonder you have + not been held up a dozen times.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Carew smiled her gentle but almost stern smile—the Carew smile, + which consisted in a widening and slightly upward curving of tightly + closed lips. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think,” said she, “that anybody would be apt to interfere with + Margaret.” + </p> + <p> + Viola Longstreet laughed, the ringing peal of a child, although she was as + old as Miss Carew. “I think you are right, Jane,” said she. “I don't + believe a crook in New York would dare face that maid of yours. He would + as soon encounter Plymouth Rock. I am glad you have brought your + delightful old jewels, although you never wear anything except those + lovely old pearl sprays and dull diamonds.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” stated Jane, with a little toss of pride, “I have Aunt Felicia's + amethysts.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sure enough! I remember you did write me last summer that she had + died and you had the amethysts at last. She must have been very old.” + </p> + <p> + “Ninety-one.” + </p> + <p> + “She might have given you the amethysts before. You, of course, will wear + them; and I—am going to borrow the corals!” + </p> + <p> + Jane Carew gasped. + </p> + <p> + “You do not object, do you, dear? I have a new dinner-gown which clamors + for corals, and my bank-account is strained, and I could buy none equal to + those of yours, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do not object,” said Jane Carew; still she looked aghast. + </p> + <p> + Viola Longstreet shrieked with laughter. “Oh, I know. You think the corals + too young for me. You have not worn them since you left off dotted muslin. + My dear, you insisted upon growing old—I insisted upon remaining + young. I had two new dotted muslins last summer. As for corals, I would + wear them in the face of an opposing army! Do not judge me by yourself, + dear. You laid hold of Age and held him, although you had your complexion + and your shape and hair. As for me, I had my complexion and kept it. I + also had my hair and kept it. My shape has been a struggle, but it was + worth while. I, my dear, have held Youth so tight that he has almost + choked to death, but held him I have. You cannot deny it. Look at me, Jane + Carew, and tell me if, judging by my looks, you can reasonably state that + I have no longer the right to wear corals.” + </p> + <p> + Jane Carew looked. She smiled the Carew smile. “You DO look very young, + Viola,” said Jane, “but you are not.” + </p> + <p> + “Jane Carew,” said Viola, “I am young. May I wear your corals at my dinner + to-morrow night?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, if you think—” + </p> + <p> + “If I think them suitable. My dear, if there were on this earth ornaments + more suitable to extreme youth than corals, I would borrow them if you + owned them, but, failing that, the corals will answer. Wait until you see + me in that taupe dinner-gown and the corals!” + </p> + <p> + Jane waited. She visited with Viola, whom she loved, although they had + little in common, partly because of leading widely different lives, partly + because of constitutional variations. She was dressed for dinner fully an + hour before it was necessary, and she sat in the library reading when + Viola swept in. + </p> + <p> + Viola was really entrancing. It was a pity that Jane Carew had such an + unswerving eye for the essential truth that it could not be appeased by + actual effect. Viola had doubtless, as she had said, struggled to keep her + slim shape, but she had kept it, and, what was more, kept it without + evidence of struggle. If she was in the least hampered by tight lacing and + length of undergarment, she gave no evidence of it as she curled herself + up in a big chair and (Jane wondered how she could bring herself to do it) + crossed her legs, revealing one delicate foot and ankle, silk-stockinged + with taupe, and shod with a coral satin slipper with a silver heel and a + great silver buckle. On Viola's fair round neck the Carew corals lay + bloomingly; her beautiful arms were clasped with them; a great coral + brooch with wonderful carving confined a graceful fold of the taupe over + one hip, a coral comb surmounted the shining waves of Viola's hair. Viola + was an ash-blonde, her complexion was as roses, and the corals were ideal + for her. As Jane regarded her friend's beauty, however, the fact that + Viola was not young, that she was as old as herself, hid it and + overshadowed it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Jane, don't you think I look well in the corals, after all?” asked + Viola, and there was something pitiful in her voice. + </p> + <p> + When a man or a woman holds fast to youth, even if successfully, there is + something of the pitiful and the tragic involved. It is the everlasting + struggle of the soul to retain the joy of earth, whose fleeting + distinguishes it from heaven, and whose retention is not accomplished + without an inner knowledge of its futility. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you do, Viola,” replied Jane Carew, with the inflexibility of + fate, “but I really think that only very young girls ought to wear + corals.” + </p> + <p> + Viola laughed, but the laugh had a minor cadence. “But I AM a young girl, + Jane,” she said. “I MUST be a young girl. I never had any girlhood when I + should have had. You know that.” + </p> + <p> + Viola had married, when very young, a man old enough to be her father, and + her wedded life had been a sad affair, to which, however, she seldom + alluded. Viola had much pride with regard to the inevitable past. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” agreed Jane. Then she added, feeling that more might be expected, + “Of course I suppose that marrying so very young does make a difference.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Viola, “it does. In fact, it makes of one's girlhood an + anti-climax, of which many dispute the wisdom, as you do. But have it I + will. Jane, your amethysts are beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + Jane regarded the clear purple gleam of a stone on her arm. “Yes,” she + agreed, “Aunt Felicia's amethysts have always been considered very + beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “And such a full set,” said Viola. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jane. She colored a little, but Viola did not know why. At the + last moment Jane had decided not to wear the amethyst comb, because it + seemed to her altogether too decorative for a woman of her age, and she + was afraid to mention it to Viola. She was sure that Viola would laugh at + her and insist upon her wearing it. + </p> + <p> + “The ear-rings are lovely,” said Viola. “My dear, I don't see how you ever + consented to have your ears pierced.” + </p> + <p> + “I was very young, and my mother wished me to,” replied Jane, blushing. + </p> + <p> + The door-bell rang. Viola had been covertly listening for it all the time. + Soon a very beautiful young man came with a curious dancing step into the + room. Harold Lind always gave the effect of dancing when he walked. He + always, moreover, gave the effect of extreme youth and of the utmost joy + and mirth in life itself. He regarded everything and everybody with a + smile as of humorous appreciation, and yet the appreciation was so + goodnatured that it offended nobody. + </p> + <p> + “Look at me—I am absurd and happy; look at yourself, also absurd and + happy; look at everybody else likewise; look at life—a jest so + delicious that it is quite worth one's while dying to be made acquainted + with it.” That is what Harold Lind seemed to say. Viola Longstreet became + even more youthful under his gaze; even Jane Carew regretted that she had + not worn her amethyst comb and began to doubt its unsuitability. Viola + very soon called the young man's attention to Jane's amethysts, and Jane + always wondered why she did not then mention the comb. She removed a + brooch and a bracelet for him to inspect. + </p> + <p> + “They are really wonderful,” he declared. “I have never seen greater depth + of color in amethysts.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Lind is an authority on jewels,” declared Viola. The young man shot a + curious glance at her, which Jane remembered long afterward. It was one of + those glances which are as keystones to situations. + </p> + <p> + Harold looked at the purple stones with the expression of a child with a + toy. There was much of the child in the young man's whole appearance, but + of a mischievous and beautiful child, of whom his mother might observe, + with adoration and illconcealed boastfulness, “I can never tell what that + child will do next!” + </p> + <p> + Harold returned the bracelet and brooch to Jane, and smiled at her as if + amethysts were a lovely purple joke between her and himself, uniting them + by a peculiar bond of fine understanding. “Exquisite, Miss Carew,” he + said. Then he looked at Viola. “Those corals suit you wonderfully, Mrs. + Longstreet,” he observed, “but amethysts would also suit you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not with this gown,” replied Viola, rather pitifully. There was something + in the young man's gaze and tone which she did not understand, but which + she vaguely quivered before. + </p> + <p> + Harold certainly thought the corals were too young for Viola. Jane + understood, and felt an unworthy triumph. Harold, who was young enough in + actual years to be Viola's son, and was younger still by reason of his + disposition, was amused by the sight of her in corals, although he did not + intend to betray his amusement. He considered Viola in corals as too rude + a jest to share with her. Had poor Viola once grasped Harold Lind's + estimation of her she would have as soon gazed upon herself in her coffin. + Harold's comprehension of the essentials was beyond Jane Carew's. It was + fairly ghastly, partaking of the nature of X-rays, but it never disturbed + Harold Lind. He went along his dance-track undisturbed, his blue eyes + never losing their high lights of glee, his lips never losing their + inscrutable smile at some happy understanding between life and himself. + Harold had fair hair, which was very smooth and glossy. His skin was like + a girl's. He was so beautiful that he showed cleverness in an affectation + of carelessness in dress. He did not like to wear evening clothes, because + they had necessarily to be immaculate. That evening Jane regarded him with + an inward criticism that he was too handsome for a man. She told Viola so + when the dinner was over and he and the other guests had gone. + </p> + <p> + “He is very handsome,” she said, “but I never like to see a man quite so + handsome.” + </p> + <p> + “You will change your mind when you see him in tweeds,” returned Viola. + “He loathes evening clothes.” + </p> + <p> + Jane regarded her anxiously. There was something in Viola's tone which + disturbed and shocked her. It was inconceivable that Viola should be in + love with that youth, and yet—“He looks very young,” said Jane in a + prim voice. + </p> + <p> + “He IS young,” admitted Viola; “still, not quite so young as he looks. + Sometimes I tell him he will look like a boy if he lives to be eighty.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he must be very young,” persisted Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Viola, but she did not say how young. Viola herself, now that + the excitement was over, did not look so young as at the beginning of the + evening. She removed the corals, and Jane considered that she looked much + better without them. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for your corals, dear,” said Viola. “Where Is Margaret?” + </p> + <p> + Margaret answered for herself by a tap on the door. She and Viola's maid, + Louisa, had been sitting on an upper landing, out of sight, watching the + guests down-stairs. Margaret took the corals and placed them in their nest + in the jewel-case, also the amethysts, after Viola had gone. The + jewel-case was a curious old affair with many compartments. The amethysts + required two. The comb was so large that it had one for itself. That was + the reason why Margaret did not discover that evening that it was gone. + Nobody discovered it for three days, when Viola had a little card-party. + There was a whist-table for Jane, who had never given up the reserved and + stately game. There were six tables in Viola's pretty living-room, with a + little conservatory at one end and a leaping hearth fire at the other. + Jane's partner was a stout old gentleman whose wife was shrieking with + merriment at an auction-bridge table. The other whist-players were a + stupid, very small young man who was aimlessly willing to play anything, + and an amiable young woman who believed in self-denial. Jane played + conscientiously. She returned trump leads, and played second hand low, and + third high, and it was not until the third rubber was over that she saw. + It had been in full evidence from the first. Jane would have seen it + before the guests arrived, but Viola had not put it in her hair until the + last moment. Viola was wild with delight, yet shamefaced and a trifle + uneasy. In a soft, white gown, with violets at her waist, she was playing + with Harold Lind, and in her ash-blond hair was Jane Carew's amethyst + comb. Jane gasped and paled. The amiable young woman who was her opponent + stared at her. Finally she spoke in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you well. Miss Carew?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The men, in their turn, stared. The stout one rose fussily. “Let me get a + glass of water,” he said. The stupid small man stood up and waved his + hands with nervousness. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you well?” asked the amiable young lady again. + </p> + <p> + Then Jane Carew recovered her poise. It was seldom that she lost it. “I am + quite well, thank you, Miss Murdock,” she replied. “I believe diamonds are + trumps.” + </p> + <p> + They all settled again to the play, but the young lady and the two men + continued glancing at Miss Carew. She had recovered her dignity of manner, + but not her color. Moreover, she had a bewildered expression. Resolutely + she abstained from glancing again at her amethyst comb in Viola + Longstreet's ash-blond hair, and gradually, by a course of subconscious + reasoning as she carefully played her cards, she arrived at a conclusion + which caused her color to return and the bewildered expression to + disappear. When refreshments were served, the amiable young lady said, + kindly: + </p> + <p> + “You look quite yourself, now, dear Miss Carew, but at one time while we + were playing I was really alarmed. You were very pale.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not feel in the least ill,” replied Jane Carew. She smiled her + Carew smile at the young lady. Jane had settled it with herself that of + course Viola had borrowed that amethyst comb, appealing to Margaret. Viola + ought not to have done that; she should have asked her, Miss Carew; and + Jane wondered, because Viola was very well bred; but of course that was + what had happened. Jane had come down before Viola, leaving Margaret in + her room, and Viola had asked her. Jane did not then remember that Viola + had not even been told that there was an amethyst comb in existence. She + remembered when Margaret, whose face was as pale and bewildered as her + own, mentioned it, when she was brushing her hair. + </p> + <p> + “I saw it, first thing. Miss Jane,” said Margaret. “Louisa and I were on + the landing, and I looked down and saw your amethyst comb in Mrs. + Longstreet's hair.” + </p> + <p> + “She had asked you for it, because I had gone down-stairs?” asked Jane, + feebly. + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss Jane. I had not seen her. I went out right after you did. Louisa + had finished Mrs. Longstreet, and she and I went down to the mailbox to + post a letter, and then we sat on the landing, and—I saw your comb.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you,” asked Jane, “looked in the jewelcase?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is not there?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not there. Miss Jane.” Margaret spoke with a sort of solemn + intoning. She recognized what the situation implied, and she, who fitted + squarely and entirely into her humble state, was aghast before a hitherto + unimagined occurrence. She could not, even with the evidence of her senses + against a lady and her mistress's old friend, believe in them. Had Jane + told her firmly that she had not seen that comb in that ash-blond hair she + might have been hypnotized into agreement. But Jane simply stared at her, + and the Carew dignity was more shaken than she had ever seen it. + </p> + <p> + “Bring the jewel-case here, Margaret,” ordered Jane in a gasp. + </p> + <p> + Margaret brought the jewel-case, and everything was taken out; all the + compartments were opened, but the amethyst comb was not there. Jane could + not sleep that night. At dawn she herself doubted the evidence of her + senses. The jewel-case was thoroughly overlooked again, and still Jane was + incredulous that she would ever see her comb in Viola's hair again. But + that evening, although there were no guests except Harold Lind, who dined + at the house, Viola appeared in a pink-tinted gown, with a knot of violets + at her waist, and—she wore the amethyst comb. She said not one word + concerning it; nobody did. Harold Lind was in wild spirits. The conviction + grew upon Jane that the irresponsible, beautiful youth was covertly + amusing himself at her, at Viola's, at everybody's expense. Perhaps he + included himself. He talked incessantly, not in reality brilliantly, but + with an effect of sparkling effervescence which was fairly dazzling. + Viola's servants restrained with difficulty their laughter at his sallies. + Viola regarded Harold with ill-concealed tenderness and admiration. She + herself looked even younger than usual, as if the innate youth in her + leaped to meet this charming comrade. + </p> + <p> + Jane felt sickened by it all. She could not understand her friend. Not for + one minute did she dream that there could be any serious outcome of the + situation; that Viola, would marry this mad youth, who, she knew, was + making such covert fun at her expense; but she was bewildered and + indignant. She wished that she had not come. That evening when she went to + her room she directed Margaret to pack, as she intended to return home the + next day. Margaret began folding gowns with alacrity. She was as + conservative as her mistress and she severely disapproved of many things. + However, the matter of the amethyst comb was uppermost in her mind. She + was wild with curiosity. She hardly dared inquire, but finally she did. + </p> + <p> + “About the amethyst comb, ma'am?” she said, with a delicate cough. + </p> + <p> + “What about it, Margaret?” returned Jane, severely. + </p> + <p> + “I thought perhaps Mrs. Longstreet had told you how she happened to have + it.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Jane Carew had nobody in whom to confide. For once she spoke her mind + to her maid. “She has not said one word. And, oh, Margaret, I don't know + what to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret pursed her lips. + </p> + <p> + “What do YOU think, Margaret?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Miss Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not mention it to Louisa,” said Margaret. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hope not!” cried Jane. + </p> + <p> + “But she did to me,” said Margaret. “She asked had I seen Miss Viola's new + comb, and then she laughed, and I thought from the way she acted that—” + Margaret hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “That what?” + </p> + <p> + “That she meant Mr. Lind had given Miss Viola the comb.” + </p> + <p> + Jane started violently. “Absolutely impossible!” she cried. “That, of + course, is nonsense. There must be some explanation. Probably Mrs. + Longstreet will explain before we go.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Longstreet did not explain. She wondered and expostulated when Jane + announced her firm determination to leave, but she seemed utterly at a + loss for the reason. She did not mention the comb. + </p> + <p> + When Jane Carew took leave of her old friend she was entirely sure in her + own mind that she would never visit her again—might never even see + her again. + </p> + <p> + Jane was unutterably thankful to be back in her own peaceful home, over + which no shadow of absurd mystery brooded; only a calm afternoon light of + life, which disclosed gently but did not conceal or betray. Jane settled + back into her pleasant life, and the days passed, and the weeks, and the + months, and the years. She heard nothing whatever from or about Viola + Longstreet for three years. Then, one day, Margaret returned from the + city, and she had met Viola's old maid Louisa in a department store, and + she had news. Jane wished for strength to refuse to listen, but she could + not muster it. She listened while Margaret brushed her hair. + </p> + <p> + “Louisa has not been with Miss Viola for a long time,” said Margaret. “She + is living with somebody else. Miss Viola lost her money, and had to give + up her house and her servants, and Louisa said she cried when she said + good-by.” + </p> + <p> + Jane made an effort. “What became of—” she began. + </p> + <p> + Margaret answered the unfinished sentence. She was excited by gossip as by + a stimulant. Her thin cheeks burned, her eyes blazed. “Mr. Lind,” said + Margaret, “Louisa told me, had turned out to be real bad. He got into some + money trouble, and then”—Margaret lowered her voice—“he was + arrested for taking a lot of money which didn't belong to him. Louisa said + he had been in some business where he handled a lot of other folks' money, + and he cheated the men who were in the business with him, and he was + tried, and Miss Viola, Louisa thinks, hid away somewhere so they wouldn't + call her to testify, and then he had to go to prison; but—” Margaret + hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Louisa thinks he died about a year and a half ago. She heard the lady + where she lives now talking about it. The lady used to know Miss Viola, + and she heard the lady say Mr. Lind had died in prison, that he couldn't + stand the hard life, and that Miss Viola had lost all her money through + him, and then”—Margaret hesitated again, and her mistress prodded + sharply—“Louisa said that she heard the lady say that she had + thought Miss Viola would marry him, but she hadn't, and she had more sense + than she had thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Longstreet would never for one moment have entertained the thought + of marrying Mr. Lind; he was young enough to be her grandson,” said Jane, + severely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Margaret. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that Jane went to New York that day week, and at a jewelry + counter in one of the shops she discovered the amethyst comb. There were + on sale a number of bits of antique jewelry, the precious flotsam and + jetsam of old and wealthy families which had drifted, nobody knew before + what currents of adversity, into that harbor of sale for all the world to + see. Jane made no inquiries; the saleswoman volunteered simply the + information that the comb was a real antique, and the stones were real + amethysts and pearls, and the setting was solid gold, and the price was + thirty dollars; and Jane bought it. She carried her old amethyst comb + home, but she did not show it to anybody. She replaced it in its old + compartment in her jewelcase and thought of it with wonder, with a hint of + joy at regaining it, and with much sadness. She was still fond of Viola + Longstreet. Jane did not easily part with her loves. She did not know + where Viola was. Margaret had inquired of Louisa, who did not know. Poor + Viola had probably drifted into some obscure harbor of life wherein she + was hiding until life was over. + </p> + <p> + And then Jane met Viola one spring day on Fifth Avenue. + </p> + <p> + “It is a very long time since I have seen you,” said Jane with a + reproachful accent, but her eyes were tenderly inquiring. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” agreed Viola. Then she added, “I have seen nobody. Do you know what + a change has come in my life?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” replied Jane, gently. “My Margaret met Louisa once and she + told her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes—Louisa,” said Viola. “I had to discharge her. My money is + about gone. I have only just enough to keep the wolf from entering the + door of a hall bedroom in a respectable boarding-house. However, I often + hear him howl, but I do not mind at all. In fact, the howling has become + company for me. I rather like it. It is queer what things one can learn to + like. There are a few left yet, like the awful heat in summer, and the + food, which I do not fancy, but that is simply a matter of time.” + </p> + <p> + Viola's laugh was like a bird's song—a part of her—and nothing + except death could silence it for long. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Jane, “you stay in New York all summer?” + </p> + <p> + Viola laughed again. “My dear,” she replied, “of course. It is all very + simple. If I left New York, and paid board anywhere, I would never have + enough money to buy my return fare, and certainly not to keep that wolf + from my hall-bedroom door.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Jane, “you are going home with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot consent to accept charity, Jane,” said Viola. “Don't ask me.” + </p> + <p> + Then, for the first time in her life, Viola Longstreet saw Jane Carew's + eyes blaze with anger. “You dare to call it charity coming from me to + you?” she said, and Viola gave in. + </p> + <p> + When Jane saw the little room where Viola lived, she marveled, with the + exceedingly great marveling of a woman to whom love of a man has never + come, at a woman who could give so much and with no return. + </p> + <p> + Little enough to pack had Viola. Jane understood with a shudder of horror + that it was almost destitution, not poverty, to which her old friend was + reduced. + </p> + <p> + “You shall have that northeast room which you always liked,” she told + Viola when they were on the train. + </p> + <p> + “The one with the old-fashioned peacock paper, and the pine-tree growing + close to one window?” said Viola, happily. + </p> + <p> + Jane and Viola settled down to life together, and Viola, despite the + tragedy which she had known, realized a peace and happiness beyond her + imagination. In reality, although she still looked so youthful, she was + old enough to enjoy the pleasures of later life. Enjoy them she did to the + utmost. She and Jane made calls together, entertained friends at small and + stately dinners, and gave little teas. They drove about in the old Carew + carriage. Viola had some new clothes. She played very well on Jane's old + piano. She embroidered, she gardened. She lived the sweet, placid life of + an older lady in a little village, and loved it. She never mentioned + Harold Lind. + </p> + <p> + Not among the vicious of the earth was poor Harold Lind; rather among + those of such beauty and charm that the earth spoils them, making them, in + their own estimation, free guests at all its tables of bounty. Moreover, + the young man had, deeply rooted in his character, the traits of a + mischievous child, rejoicing in his mischief more from a sense of humor so + keen that it verged on cruelty than from any intention to harm others. + Over that affair of the amethyst comb, for instance, his irresponsible, + selfish, childish soul had fairly reveled in glee. He had not been fond of + Viola, but he liked her fondness for himself. He had made sport of her, + but only for his own entertainment—never for the entertainment of + others. He was a beautiful creature, seeking out paths of pleasure and + folly for himself alone, which ended as do all paths of earthly pleasure + and folly. Harold had admired Viola, but from the same point of view as + Jane Carew's. Viola had, when she looked her youngest and best, always + seemed so old as to be venerable to him. He had at times compunctions, as + if he were making a jest of his grandmother. Viola never knew the truth + about the amethyst comb. He had considered that one of the best frolics of + his life. He had simply purloined it and presented it to Viola, and + merrily left matters to settle themselves. + </p> + <p> + Viola and Jane had lived together a month before the comb was mentioned. + Then one day Viola was in Jane's room and the jewel-case was out, and she + began examining its contents. When she found the amethyst comb she gave a + little cry. Jane, who had been seated at her desk and had not seen what + was going on, turned around. + </p> + <p> + Viola stood holding the comb, and her cheeks were burning. She fondled the + trinket as if it had been a baby. Jane watched her. She began to + understand the bare facts of the mystery of the disappearance of her + amethyst comb, but the subtlety of it was forever beyond her. Had the + other woman explained what was in her mind, in her heart—how that + reckless young man whom she had loved had given her the treasure because + he had heard her admire Jane's amethysts, and she, all unconscious of any + wrong-doing, had ever regarded it as the one evidence of his thoughtful + tenderness, it being the one gift she had ever received from him; how she + parted with it, as she had parted with her other jewels, in order to + obtain money to purchase comforts for him while he was in prison—Jane + could not have understood. The fact of an older woman being fond of a + young man, almost a boy, was beyond her mental grasp. She had no + imagination with which to comprehend that innocent, pathetic, almost + terrible love of one who has trodden the earth long for one who has just + set dancing feet upon it. It was noble of Jane Carew that, lacking all + such imagination, she acted as she did: that, although she did not, could + not, formulate it to herself, she would no more have deprived the other + woman and the dead man of that one little unscathed bond of tender + goodness than she would have robbed his grave of flowers. + </p> + <p> + Viola looked at her. “I cannot tell you all about it; you would laugh at + me,” she whispered; “but this was mine once.” + </p> + <p> + “It is yours now, dear,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE UMBRELLA MAN + </h2> + <p> + IT was an insolent day. There are days which, to imaginative minds, at + least, possess strangely human qualities. Their atmospheres predispose + people to crime or virtue, to the calm of good will, to sneaking vice, or + fierce, unprovoked aggression. The day was of the last description. A + beast, or a human being in whose veins coursed undisciplined blood, might, + as involuntarily as the boughs of trees lash before storms, perform wild + and wicked deeds after inhaling that hot air, evil with the sweat of + sinevoked toil, with nitrogen stored from festering sores of nature and + the loathsome emanations of suffering life. + </p> + <p> + It had not rained for weeks, but the humidity was great. The clouds of + dust which arose beneath the man's feet had a horrible damp stickiness. + His face and hands were grimy, as were his shoes, his cheap, ready-made + suit, and his straw hat. However, the man felt a pride in his clothes, for + they were at least the garb of freedom. He had come out of prison the day + before, and had scorned the suit proffered him by the officials. He had + given it away, and bought a new one with a goodly part of his small stock + of money. This suit was of a small-checked pattern. Nobody could tell from + it that the wearer had just left jail. He had been there for several years + for one of the minor offenses against the law. His term would probably + have been shorter, but the judge had been careless, and he had no friends. + Stebbins had never been the sort to make many friends, although he had + never cherished animosity toward any human being. Even some injustice in + his sentence had not caused him to feel any rancor. + </p> + <p> + During his stay in the prison he had not been really unhappy. He had + accepted the inevitable-the yoke of the strong for the weak—with a + patience which brought almost a sense of enjoyment. But, now that he was + free, he had suddenly become alert, watchful of chances for his + betterment. From being a mere kenneled creature he had become as a hound + on the scent, the keenest on earth—that of self-interest. He was + changed, while yet living, from a being outside the world to one with the + world before him. He felt young, although he was a middle-aged, almost + elderly man. He had in his pocket only a few dollars. He might have had + more had he not purchased the checked suit and had he not given much away. + There was another man whose term would be up in a week, and he had a + sickly wife and several children. Stebbins, partly from native kindness + and generosity, partly from a sentiment which almost amounted to + superstition, had given him of his slender store. He had been deprived of + his freedom because of money; he said to himself that his return to it + should be heralded by the music of it scattered abroad for the good of + another. + </p> + <p> + Now and then as he walked Stebbins removed his new straw hat, wiped his + forehead with a stiff new handkerchief, looked with some concern at the + grime left upon it, then felt anxiously of his short crop of grizzled + hair. He would be glad when it grew only a little, for it was at present a + telltale to observant eyes. Also now and then he took from another pocket + a small mirror which he had just purchased, and scrutinized his face. + Every time he did so he rubbed his cheeks violently, then viewed with + satisfaction the hard glow which replaced the yellow prison pallor. Every + now and then, too, he remembered to throw his shoulders back, hold his + chin high, and swing out his right leg more freely. At such times he + almost swaggered, he became fairly insolent with his new sense of freedom. + He felt himself the equal if not the peer of all creation. Whenever a + carriage or a motor-car passed him on the country road he assumed, with + the skill of an actor, the air of a business man hastening to an important + engagement. However, always his mind was working over a hard problem. He + knew that his store of money was scanty, that it would not last long even + with the strictest economy; he had no friends; a prison record is sure to + leak out when a man seeks a job. He was facing the problem of bare + existence. + </p> + <p> + Although the day was so hot, it was late summer; soon would come the frost + and the winter. He wished to live to enjoy his freedom, and all he had for + assets was that freedom; which was paradoxical, for it did not signify the + ability to obtain work, which was the power of life. Outside the stone + wall of the prison he was now inclosed by a subtle, intangible, yet + infinitely more unyielding one—the prejudice of his kind against the + released prisoner. He was to all intents and purposes a prisoner still, + for all his spurts of swagger and the youthful leap of his pulses, and + while he did not admit that to himself, yet always, since he had the hard + sense of the land of his birth—New England—he pondered that + problem of existence. He felt instinctively that it would be a useless + proceeding for him to approach any human being for employment. He knew + that even the freedom, which he realized through all his senses like an + essential perfume, could not yet overpower the reek of the prison. As he + walked through the clogging dust he thought of one after another whom he + had known before he had gone out of the world of free men and had bent his + back under the hand of the law. There were, of course, people in his + little native village, people who had been friends and neighbors, but + there were none who had ever loved him sufficiently for him to conquer his + resolve to never ask aid of them. He had no relatives except cousins more + or less removed, and they would have nothing to do with him. + </p> + <p> + There had been a woman whom he had meant to marry, and he had been sure + that she would marry him; but after he had been a year in prison the news + had come to him in a roundabout fashion that she had married another + suitor. Even had she remained single he could not have approached her, + least of all for aid. Then, too, through all his term she had made no + sign, there had been no letter, no message; and he had received at first + letters and flowers and messages from sentimental women. There had been + nothing from her. He had accepted nothing, with the curious patience, + carrying an odd pleasure with it, which had come to him when the prison + door first closed upon him. He had not forgotten her, but he had not + consciously mourned her. His loss, his ruin, had been so tremendous that + she had been swallowed up in it. When one's whole system needs to be + steeled to trouble and pain, single pricks lose importance. He thought of + her that day without any sense of sadness. He imagined her in a pretty, + well-ordered home with her husband and children. Perhaps she had grown + stout. She had been a slender woman. He tried idly to imagine how she + would look stout, then by the sequence of self-preservation the + imagination of stoutness in another led to the problem of keeping the + covering of flesh and fatness upon his own bones. The question now was not + of the woman; she had passed out of his life. The question was of the + keeping that life itself, the life which involved everything else, in a + hard world, which would remorselessly as a steel trap grudge him life and + snap upon him, now he was become its prey. + </p> + <p> + He walked and walked, and it was high noon, and he was hungry. He had in + his pocket a small loaf of bread and two frankfurters, and he heard the + splashing ripple of a brook. At that juncture the road was bordered by + thick woodland. He followed, pushing his way through the trees and + undergrowth, the sound of the brook, and sat down in a cool, green + solitude with a sigh of relief. He bent over the clear run, made a cup of + his hand, and drank, then he fell to eating. Close beside him grew some + wintergreen, and when he had finished his bread and frankfurters he began + plucking the glossy, aromatic leaves and chewing them automatically. The + savor reached his palate, and his memory awakened before it as before a + pleasant tingling of a spur. As a boy how he had loved this little green + low-growing plant! It had been one of the luxuries of his youth. Now, as + he tasted it, joy and pathos stirred in his very soul. What a wonder youth + had been, what a splendor, what an immensity to be rejoiced over and + regretted! The man lounging beside the brook, chewing wintergreen leaves, + seemed to realize antipodes. He lived for the moment in the past, and the + immutable future, which might contain the past in the revolution of time. + He smiled, and his face fell into boyish, almost childish, contours. He + plucked another glossy leaf with his hard, veinous old hands. His hands + would not change to suit his mood, but his limbs relaxed like those of a + boy. He stared at the brook gurgling past in brown ripples, shot with dim + prismatic lights, showing here clear green water lines, here inky depths, + and he thought of the possibility of trout. He wished for fishing-tackle. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly out of a mass of green looked two girls, with wide, startled + eyes, and rounded mouths of terror which gave vent to screams. There was a + scuttling, then silence. The man wondered why the girls were so silly, why + they ran. He did not dream of the possibility of their terror of him. He + ate another wintergreen leaf, and thought of the woman he had expected to + marry when he was arrested and imprisoned. She did not go back to his + childish memories. He had met her when first youth had passed, and yet, + somehow, the savor of the wintergreen leaves brought her face before him. + It is strange how the excitement of one sense will sometimes act as + stimulant for the awakening of another. Now the sense of taste brought + into full activity that of sight. He saw the woman just as she had looked + when he had last seen her. She had not been pretty, but she was + exceedingly dainty, and possessed of a certain elegance of carriage which + attracted. He saw quite distinctly her small, irregular face and the + satin-smooth coils of dark hair around her head; he saw her slender, dusky + hands with the well-cared-for nails and the too prominent veins; he saw + the gleam of the diamond which he had given her. She had sent it to him + just after his arrest, and he had returned it. He wondered idly whether + she still owned it and wore it, and what her husband thought of it. He + speculated childishly-somehow imprisonment had encouraged the return of + childish speculations—as to whether the woman's husband had given + her a larger and costlier diamond than his, and he felt a pang of + jealousy. He refused to see another diamond than his own upon that + slender, dark hand. He saw her in a black silk gown which had been her + best. There had been some red about it, and a glitter of jet. He had + thought it a magnificent gown, and the woman in it like a princess. He + could see her leaning back, in her long slim grace, in a corner of a sofa, + and the soft dark folds starry with jet sweeping over her knees and just + allowing a glimpse of one little foot. Her feet had been charming, very + small and highly arched. Then he remembered that that evening they had + been to a concert in the town hall, and that afterward they had partaken + of an oyster stew in a little restaurant. Then back his mind traveled to + the problem of his own existence, his food and shelter and clothes. He + dismissed the woman from his thought. He was concerned now with the primal + conditions of life itself. How was he to eat when his little stock of + money was gone? He sat staring at the brook; he chewed wintergreen leaves + no longer. Instead he drew from his pocket an old pipe and a paper of + tobacco. He filled his pipe with care—tobacco was precious; then he + began to smoke, but his face now looked old and brooding through the rank + blue vapor. Winter was coming, and he had not a shelter. He had not money + enough to keep him long from starvation. He knew not how to obtain + employment. He thought vaguely of wood-piles, of cutting winter fuel for + people. His mind traveled in a trite strain of reasoning. Somehow + wood-piles seemed the only available tasks for men of his sort. + </p> + <p> + Presently he finished his filled pipe, and arose with an air of decision. + He went at a brisk pace out of the wood and was upon the road again. He + progressed like a man with definite business in view until he reached a + house. It was a large white farm-house with many outbuildings. It looked + most promising. He approached the side door, and a dog sprang from around + a corner and barked, but he spoke, and the dog's tail became eloquent. He + was patting the dog, when the door opened and a man stood looking at him. + Immediately the taint of the prison became evident. He had not cringed + before the dog, but he did cringe before the man who lived in that fine + white house, and who had never known what it was to be deprived of + liberty. He hung his head, he mumbled. The house-owner, who was older than + he, was slightly deaf. He looked him over curtly. The end of it was he was + ordered off the premises, and went; but the dog trailed, wagging at his + heels, and had to be roughly called back. The thought of the dog comforted + Stebbins as he went on his way. He had always liked animals. It was + something, now he was past a hand-shake, to have the friendly wag of a + dog's tail. + </p> + <p> + The next house was an ornate little cottage with bay-windows, through + which could be seen the flower patterns of lace draperies; the Virginia + creeper which grew over the house walls was turning crimson in places. + Stebbins went around to the back door and knocked, but nobody came. He + waited a long time, for he had spied a great pile of uncut wood. Finally + he slunk around to the front door. As he went he suddenly reflected upon + his state of mind in days gone by; if he could have known that the time + would come when he, Joseph Stebbins, would feel culpable at approaching + any front door! He touched the electric bell and stood close to the door, + so that he might not be discovered from the windows. Presently the door + opened the length of a chain, and a fair girlish head appeared. She was + one of the girls who had been terrified by him in the woods, but that he + did not know. Now again her eyes dilated and her pretty mouth rounded! She + gave a little cry and slammed the door in his face, and he heard excited + voices. Then he saw two pale, pretty faces, the faces of the two girls who + had come upon him in the wood, peering at him around a corner of the lace + in the bay-window, and he understood what it meant—that he was an + object of terror to them. Directly he experienced such a sense of mortal + insult as he had never known, not even when the law had taken hold of him. + He held his head high and went away, his very soul boiling with a sort of + shamed rage. “Those two girls are afraid of me,” he kept saying to + himself. His knees shook with the horror of it. This terror of him seemed + the hardest thing to bear in a hard life. He returned to his green nook + beside the brook and sat down again. He thought for the moment no more of + woodpiles, of his life. He thought about those two young girls who had + been afraid of him. He had never had an impulse to harm any living thing. + A curious hatred toward these living things who had accused him of such an + impulse came over him. He laughed sardonically. He wished that they would + again come and peer at him through the bushes; he would make a threatening + motion for the pleasure of seeing the silly things scuttle away. + </p> + <p> + After a while he put it all out of mind, and again returned to his + problem. He lay beside the brook and pondered, and finally fell asleep in + the hot air, which increased in venom, until the rattle of thunder awoke + him. It was very dark—a strange, livid darkness. “A thunder-storm,” + he muttered, and then he thought of his new clothes—what a + misfortune it would be to have them soaked. He arose and pushed through + the thicket around him into a cart path, and it was then that he saw the + thing which proved to be the stepping-stone toward his humble fortunes. It + was only a small silk umbrella with a handle tipped with pearl. He seized + upon it with joy, for it meant the salvation of his precious clothes. He + opened it and held it over his head, although the rain had not yet begun. + One rib of the umbrella was broken, but it was still serviceable. He + hastened along the cart path; he did not know why, only the need for + motion, to reach protection from the storm, was upon him; and yet what + protection could be ahead of him in that woodland path? Afterward he grew + to think of it as a blind instinct which led him on. + </p> + <p> + He had not gone far, not more than half a mile, when he saw something + unexpected—a small untenanted house. He gave vent to a little cry of + joy, which had in it something child-like and pathetic, and pushed open + the door and entered. It was nothing but a tiny, unfinished shack, with + one room and a small one opening from it. There was no ceiling; overhead + was the tent-like slant of the roof, but it was tight. The dusty floor was + quite dry. There was one rickety chair. Stebbins, after looking into the + other room to make sure that the place was empty, sat down, and a + wonderful wave of content and self-respect came over him. The poor human + snail had found his shell; he had a habitation, a roof of shelter. The + little dim place immediately assumed an aspect of home. The rain came down + in torrents, the thunder crashed, the place was filled with blinding blue + lights. Stebbins filled his pipe more lavishly this time, tilted his chair + against the wall, smoked, and gazed about him with pitiful content. It was + really so little, but to him it was so much. He nodded with satisfaction + at the discovery of a fireplace and a rusty cooking-stove. + </p> + <p> + He sat and smoked until the storm passed over. The rainfall had been very + heavy, there had been hail, but the poor little house had not failed of + perfect shelter. A fairly cold wind from the northwest blew through the + door. The hail had brought about a change of atmosphere. The burning heat + was gone. The night would be cool, even chilly. + </p> + <p> + Stebbins got up and examined the stove and the pipe. They were rusty, but + appeared trustworthy. He went out and presently returned with some fuel + which he had found unwet in a thick growth of wood. He laid a fire handily + and lit it. The little stove burned well, with no smoke. Stebbins looked + at it, and was perfectly happy. He had found other treasures outside—a + small vegetable-garden in which were potatoes and some corn. A man had + squatted in this little shack for years, and had raised his own + garden-truck. He had died only a few weeks ago, and his furniture had been + pre-empted with the exception of the stove, the chair, a tilting lounge in + the small room, and a few old iron pots and fryingpans. Stebbins gathered + corn, dug potatoes, and put them on the stove to cook, then he hurried out + to the village store and bought a few slices of bacon, half a dozen eggs, + a quarter of a pound of cheap tea, and some salt. When he re-entered the + house he looked as he had not for years. He was beaming. “Come, this is a + palace,” he said to himself, and chuckled with pure joy. He had come out + of the awful empty spaces of homeless life into home. He was a man who had + naturally strong domestic instincts. If he had spent the best years of his + life in a home instead of a prison, the finest in him would have been + developed. As it was, this was not even now too late. When he had cooked + his bacon and eggs and brewed his tea, when the vegetables were done and + he was seated upon the rickety chair, with his supper spread before him on + an old board propped on sticks, he was supremely happy. He ate with a + relish which seemed to reach his soul. He was at home, and eating, + literally, at his own board. As he ate he glanced from time to time at the + two windows, with broken panes of glass and curtainless. He was not afraid—that + was nonsense; he had never been a cowardly man, but he felt the need of + curtains or something before his windows to shut out the broad vast face + of nature, or perhaps prying human eyes. Somebody might espy the light in + the house and wonder. He had a candle stuck in an old bottle by way of + illumination. Still, although he would have preferred to have curtains + before those windows full of the blank stare of night, he WAS supremely + happy. + </p> + <p> + After he had finished his supper he looked longingly at his pipe. He + hesitated for a second, for he realized the necessity of saving his + precious tobacco; then he became reckless: such enormous good fortune as a + home must mean more to follow; it must be the first of a series of happy + things. He filled his pipe and smoked. Then he went to bed on the old + couch in the other room, and slept like a child until the sun shone + through the trees in flickering lines. Then he rose, went out to the brook + which ran near the house, splashed himself with water, returned to the + house, cooked the remnant of the eggs and bacon, and ate his breakfast + with the same exultant peace with which he had eaten his supper the night + before. Then he sat down in the doorway upon the sunken sill and fell + again to considering his main problem. He did not smoke. His tobacco was + nearly exhausted and he was no longer reckless. His head was not turned + now by the feeling that he was at home. He considered soberly as to the + probable owner of the house and whether he would be allowed to remain its + tenant. Very soon, however, his doubt concerning that was set at rest. He + saw a disturbance of the shadows cast by the thick boughs over the cart + path by a long outreach of darker shadow which he knew at once for that of + a man. He sat upright, and his face at first assumed a defiant, then a + pleading expression, like that of a child who desires to retain possession + of some dear thing. His heart beat hard as he watched the advance of the + shadow. It was slow, as if cast by an old man. The man was old and very + stout, supporting one lopping side by a stick, who presently followed the + herald of his shadow. He looked like a farmer. Stebbins rose as he + approached; the two men stood staring at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Who be you, neighbor?” inquired the newcomer. + </p> + <p> + The voice essayed a roughness, but only achieved a tentative friendliness. + Stebbins hesitated for a second; a suspicious look came into the farmer's + misty blue eyes. Then Stebbins, mindful of his prison record and fiercely + covetous of his new home, gave another name. The name of his maternal + grandfather seemed suddenly to loom up in printed characters before his + eyes, and he gave it glibly. “David Anderson,” he said, and he did not + realize a lie. Suddenly the name seemed his own. Surely old David + Anderson, who had been a good man, would not grudge the gift of his + unstained name to replace the stained one of his grandson. “David + Anderson,” he replied, and looked the other man in the face unflinchingly. + </p> + <p> + “Where do ye hail from?” inquired the farmer; and the new David Anderson + gave unhesitatingly the name of the old David Anderson's birth and life + and death place—that of a little village in New Hampshire. + </p> + <p> + “What do you do for your living?” was the next question, and the new David + Anderson had an inspiration. His eyes had lit upon the umbrella which he + had found the night before. + </p> + <p> + “Umbrellas,” he replied, laconically, and the other man nodded. Men with + sheaves of umbrellas, mended or in need of mending, had always been + familiar features for him. + </p> + <p> + Then David assumed the initiative; possessed of an honorable business as + well as home, he grew bold. “Any objection to my staying here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The other man eyed him sharply. “Smoke much?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Smoke a pipe sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Careful with your matches?” + </p> + <p> + David nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That's all I think about,” said the farmer. “These woods is apt to catch + fire jest when I'm about ready to cut. The man that squatted here before—he + died about a month ago—didn't smoke. He was careful, he was.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be real careful,” said David, humbly and anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no' as I have any objections to your staying, then,” said the + farmer. “Somebody has always squat here. A man built this shack about + twenty year ago, and he lived here till he died. Then t'other feller he + came along. Reckon he must have had a little money; didn't work at + nothin'! Raised some garden-truck and kept a few chickens. I took them + home after he died. You can have them now if you want to take care of + them. He rigged up that little chicken-coop back there.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take care of them,” answered David, fervently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can come over by and by and get 'em. There's nine hens and a + rooster. They lay pretty well. I ain't no use for 'em. I've got all the + hens of my own I want to bother with.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said David. He looked blissful. + </p> + <p> + The farmer stared past him into the house. He spied the solitary umbrella. + He grew facetious. “Guess the umbrellas was all mended up where you come + from if you've got down to one,” said he. + </p> + <p> + David nodded. It was tragically true, that guess. + </p> + <p> + “Well, our umbrella got turned last week,” said the farmer. “I'll give you + a job to start on. You can stay here as long as you want if you're careful + about your matches.” Again he looked into the house. “Guess some boys have + been helpin' themselves to the furniture, most of it,” he observed. “Guess + my wife can spare ye another chair, and there's an old table out in the + corn-house better than that one you've rigged up, and I guess she'll give + ye some old bedding so you can be comfortable. + </p> + <p> + “Got any money?” + </p> + <p> + “A little.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want any pay for things, and my wife won't; didn't mean that; was + wonderin' whether ye had anything to buy vittles with.” + </p> + <p> + “Reckon I can manage till I get some work,” replied David, a trifle + stiffly. He was a man who had never lived at another than the state's + expense. + </p> + <p> + “Don't want ye to be too short, that's all,” said the other, a little + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be all right. There are corn and potatoes in the garden, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “So there be, and one of them hens had better be eat. She don't lay. + She'll need a good deal of b'ilin'. You can have all the wood you want to + pick up, but I don't want any cut. You mind that or there'll be trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't cut a stick.” + </p> + <p> + “Mind ye don't. Folks call me an easy mark, and I guess myself I am easy + up to a certain point, and cuttin' my wood is one of them points. Roof + didn't leak in that shower last night, did it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't s'pose it would. The other feller was handy, and he kept tinkerin' + all the time. Well, I'll be goin'; you can stay here and welcome if you're + careful about matches and don't cut my wood. Come over for them hens any + time you want to. I'll let my hired man drive you back in the wagon.” + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged,” said David, with an inflection that was almost tearful. + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome,” said the other, and ambled away. + </p> + <p> + The new David Anderson, the good old grandfather revived in his + unfortunate, perhaps graceless grandson, reseated himself on the door-step + and watched the bulky, receding figure of his visitor through a pleasant + blur of tears, which made the broad, rounded shoulders and the halting + columns of legs dance. This David Anderson had almost forgotten that there + was unpaid kindness in the whole world, and it seemed to him as if he had + seen angels walking up and down. He sat for a while doing nothing except + realizing happiness of the present and of the future. He gazed at the + green spread of forest boughs, and saw in pleased anticipation their red + and gold tints of autumn; also in pleased anticipation their snowy and icy + mail of winter, and himself, the unmailed, defenseless human creature, + housed and sheltered, sitting before his own fire. This last happy outlook + aroused him. If all this was to be, he must be up and doing. He got up, + entered the house, and examined the broken umbrella which was his sole + stock in trade. David was a handy man. He at once knew that he was capable + of putting it in perfect repair. Strangely enough, for his sense of right + and wrong was not blunted, he had no compunction whatever in keeping this + umbrella, although he was reasonably certain that it belonged to one of + the two young girls who had been so terrified by him. He had a conviction + that this monstrous terror of theirs, which had hurt him more than many + apparently crueler things, made them quits. + </p> + <p> + After he had washed his dishes in the brook, and left them in the sun to + dry, he went to the village store and purchased a few simple things + necessary for umbrella-mending. Both on his way to the store and back he + kept his eyes open. He realized that his capital depended largely upon + chance and good luck. He considered that he had extraordinary good luck + when he returned with three more umbrellas. He had discovered one propped + against the counter of the store, turned inside out. He had inquired to + whom it belonged, and had been answered to anybody who wanted it. David + had seized upon it with secret glee. Then, unheard-of good fortune, he had + found two more umbrellas on his way home; one was in an ash-can, the other + blowing along like a belated bat beside the trolley track. It began to + seem to David as if the earth might be strewn with abandoned umbrellas. + Before he began his work he went to the farmer's and returned in triumph, + driven in the farm-wagon, with his cackling hens and quite a load of + household furniture, besides some bread and pies. The farmer's wife was + one of those who are able to give, and make receiving greater than giving. + She had looked at David, who was older than she, with the eyes of a + mother, and his pride had melted away, and he had held out his hands for + her benefits, like a child who has no compunctions about receiving gifts + because he knows that they are his right of childhood. + </p> + <p> + Henceforth David prospered—in a humble way, it is true, still he + prospered. He journeyed about the country, umbrellas over his shoulder, + little bag of tools in hand, and reaped an income more than sufficient for + his simple wants. His hair had grown, and also his beard. Nobody suspected + his history. He met the young girls whom he had terrified on the road + often, and they did not know him. He did not, during the winter, travel + very far afield. Night always found him at home, warm, well fed, content, + and at peace. Sometimes the old farmer on whose land he lived dropped in + of an evening and they had a game of checkers. The old man was a checker + expert. He played with unusual skill, but David made for himself a little + code of honor. He would never beat the old man, even if he were able, + oftener than once out of three evenings. He made coffee on these convivial + occasions. He made very good coffee, and they sipped as they moved the men + and kings, and the old man chuckled, and David beamed with peaceful + happiness. + </p> + <p> + But the next spring, when he began to realize that he had mended for a + while all the umbrellas in the vicinity and that his trade was flagging, + he set his precious little home in order, barricaded door and windows, and + set forth for farther fields. He was lucky, as he had been from the start. + He found plenty of employment, and slept comfortably enough in barns, and + now and then in the open. He had traveled by slow stages for several weeks + before he entered a village whose familiar look gave him a shock. It was + not his native village, but near it. In his younger life he had often + journeyed there. It was a little shopping emporium, almost a city. He + recognized building after building. Now and then he thought he saw a face + which he had once known, and he was thankful that there was hardly any + possibility of any one recognizing him. He had grown gaunt and thin since + those far-off days; he wore a beard, grizzled, as was his hair. In those + days he had not been an umbrella man. Sometimes the humor of the situation + struck him. What would he have said, he the spruce, plump, head-in-the-air + young man, if anybody had told him that it would come to pass that he + would be an umbrella man lurking humbly in search of a job around the back + doors of houses? He would laugh softly to himself as he trudged along, and + the laugh would be without the slightest bitterness. His lot had been so + infinitely worse, and he had such a happy nature, yielding sweetly to the + inevitable, that he saw now only cause for amusement. + </p> + <p> + He had been in that vicinity about three weeks when one day he met the + woman. He knew her at once, although she was greatly changed. She had + grown stout, although, poor soul! it seemed as if there had been no reason + for it. She was not unwieldy, but she was stout, and all the contours of + earlier life had disappeared beneath layers of flesh. Her hair was not + gray, but the bright brown had faded, and she wore it tightly strained + back from her seamed forehead, although it was thin. One had only to look + at her hair to realize that she was a woman who had given up, who no + longer cared. She was humbly clad in a blue-cotton wrapper, she wore a + dingy black hat, and she carried a tin pail half full of raspberries. When + the man and woman met they stopped with a sort of shock, and each changed + face grew like the other in its pallor. She recognized him and he her, but + along with that recognition was awakened a fierce desire to keep it + secret. His prison record loomed up before the man, the woman's past + loomed up before her. She had possibly not been guilty of much, but her + life was nothing to waken pride in her. She felt shamed before this man + whom she had loved, and who felt shamed before her. However, after a + second the silence was broken. The man recovered his self-possession + first. + </p> + <p> + He spoke casually. + </p> + <p> + “Nice day,” said he. + </p> + <p> + The woman nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Been berrying?” inquired David. The woman nodded again. + </p> + <p> + David looked scrutinizingly at her pail. “I saw better berries real thick + a piece back,” said he. + </p> + <p> + The woman murmured something. In spite of herself, a tear trickled over + her fat, weather-beaten cheek. David saw the tear, and something warm and + glorious like sunlight seemed to waken within him. He felt such tenderness + and pity for this poor feminine thing who had not the strength to keep the + tears back, and was so pitiably shorn of youth and grace, that he himself + expanded. He had heard in the town something of her history. She had made + a dreadful marriage, tragedy and suspicion had entered her life, and the + direst poverty. However, he had not known that she was in the vicinity. + Somebody had told him she was out West. + </p> + <p> + “Living here?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Working for my board at a house back there,” she muttered. She did not + tell him that she had come as a female “hobo” in a freight-car from the + Western town where she had been finally stranded. “Mrs. White sent me out + for berries,” she added. “She keeps boarders, and there were no berries in + the market this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Come back with me and I will show you where I saw the berries real + thick,” said David. + </p> + <p> + He turned himself about, and she followed a little behind, the female + failure in the dust cast by the male. Neither spoke until David stopped + and pointed to some bushes where the fruit hung thick on bending, slender + branches. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said David. Both fell to work. David picked handfuls of berries + and cast them gaily into the pail. “What is your name?” he asked, in an + undertone. + </p> + <p> + “Jane Waters,” she replied, readily. Her husband's name had been Waters, + or the man who had called himself her husband, and her own middle name was + Jane. The first was Sara. David remembered at once. “She is taking her own + middle name and the name of the man she married,” he thought. Then he + asked, plucking berries, with his eyes averted: + </p> + <p> + “Married?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the woman, flushing deeply. + </p> + <p> + David's next question betrayed him. “Husband dead?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any husband,” she replied, like the Samaritan woman. + </p> + <p> + She had married a man already provided with another wife, although she had + not known it. The man was not dead, but she spoke the entire miserable + truth when she replied as she did. David assumed that he was dead. He felt + a throb of relief, of which he was ashamed, but he could not down it. He + did not know what it was that was so alive and triumphant within him: + love, or pity, or the natural instinct of the decent male to shelter and + protect. Whatever it was, it was dominant. + </p> + <p> + “Do you have to work hard?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty hard, I guess. I expect to.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't get any pay?” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right; I don't expect to get any,” said she, and there was + bitterness in her voice. + </p> + <p> + In spite of her stoutness she was not as strong as the man. She was not at + all strong, and, moreover, the constant presence of a sense of injury at + the hands of life filled her very soul with a subtle poison, to her + weakening vitality. She was a child hurt and worried and bewildered, + although she was to the average eye a stout, able-bodied, middle-aged + woman; but David had not the average eye, and he saw her as she really + was, not as she seemed. There had always been about her a little weakness + and dependency which had appealed to him. Now they seemed fairly to cry + out to him like the despairing voices of the children whom he had never + had, and he knew he loved her as he had never loved her before, with a + love which had budded and flowered and fruited and survived absence and + starvation. He spoke abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I've about got my business done in these parts,” said he. “I've got quite + a little money, and I've got a little house, not much, but mighty snug, + back where I come from. There's a garden. It's in the woods. Not much + passing nor going on.” + </p> + <p> + The woman was looking at him with incredulous, pitiful eyes like a dog's. + “I hate much goin' on,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” said David, “you take those berries home and pack up your + things. Got much?” + </p> + <p> + “All I've got will go in my bag.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, pack up; tell the madam where you live that you're sorry, but + you're worn out—” + </p> + <p> + “God knows I am,” cried the woman, with sudden force, “worn out!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you tell her that, and say you've got another chance, and—” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” cried the woman, and she hung upon his words like a + drowning thing. + </p> + <p> + “Mean? Why, what I mean is this. You pack your bag and come to the + parson's back there, that white house.” + </p> + <p> + “I know—” + </p> + <p> + “In the mean time I'll see about getting a license, and—” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the woman set her pail down and clutched him by both hands. “Say + you are not married,” she demanded; “say it, swear it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do swear it,” said David. “You are the only woman I ever asked to + marry me. I can support you. We sha'n't be rolling in riches, but we can + be comfortable, and—I rather guess I can make you happy.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't say what your name was,” said the woman. + </p> + <p> + “David Anderson.” + </p> + <p> + The woman looked at him with a strange expression, the expression of one + who loves and respects, even reveres, the isolation and secrecy of another + soul. She understood, down to the depths of her being she understood. She + had lived a hard life, she had her faults, but she was fine enough to + comprehend and hold sacred another personality. She was very pale, but she + smiled. Then she turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “How long will it take you?” asked David. + </p> + <p> + “About an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I will meet you in front of the parson's house in an hour. We + will go back by train. I have money enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd just as soon walk.” The woman spoke with the utmost humility of love + and trust. She had not even asked where the man lived. All her life she + had followed him with her soul, and it would go hard if her poor feet + could not keep pace with her soul. + </p> + <p> + “No, it is too far; we will take the train. One goes at half past four.” + </p> + <p> + At half past four the couple, made man and wife, were on the train + speeding toward the little home in the woods. The woman had frizzled her + thin hair pathetically and ridiculously over her temples; on her left hand + gleamed a white diamond. She had kept it hidden; she had almost starved + rather than part with it. She gazed out of the window at the flying + landscape, and her thin lips were curved in a charming smile. The man sat + beside her, staring straight ahead as if at happy visions. + </p> + <p> + They lived together afterward in the little house in the woods, and were + happy with a strange crystallized happiness at which they would have + mocked in their youth, but which they now recognized as the essential of + all happiness upon earth. And always the woman knew what she knew about + her husband, and the man knew about his wife, and each recognized the + other as old lover and sweetheart come together at last, but always each + kept the knowledge from the other with an infinite tenderness of delicacy + which was as a perfumed garment veiling the innermost sacredness of love. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALKING OF CHRISTOPHER + </h2> + <p> + THE spring was early that year. It was only the last of March, but the + trees were filmed with green and paling with promise of bloom; the front + yards were showing new grass pricking through the old. It was high time to + plow the south field and the garden, but Christopher sat in his + rocking-chair beside the kitchen window and gazed out, and did absolutely + nothing about it. + </p> + <p> + Myrtle Dodd, Christopher's wife, washed the breakfast dishes, and later + kneaded the bread, all the time glancing furtively at her husband. She had + a most old-fashioned deference with regard to Christopher. She was always + a little afraid of him. Sometimes Christopher's mother, Mrs. Cyrus Dodd, + and his sister Abby, who had never married, reproached her for this + attitude of mind. “You are entirely too much cowed down by Christopher,” + Mrs. Dodd said. + </p> + <p> + “I would never be under the thumb of any man,” Abby said. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever seen Christopher in one of his spells?” Myrtle would ask. + </p> + <p> + Then Mrs. Cyrus Dodd and Abby would look at each other. “It is all your + fault, mother,” Abby would say. “You really ought not to have allowed your + son to have his own head so much.” + </p> + <p> + “You know perfectly well, Abby, what I had to contend against,” replied + Mrs. Dodd, and Abby became speechless. Cyrus Dodd, now deceased some + twenty years, had never during his whole life yielded to anything but + birth and death. Before those two primary facts even his terrible will was + powerless. He had come into the world without his consent being obtained; + he had passed in like manner from it. But during his life he had ruled, a + petty monarch, but a most thorough one. He had spoiled Christopher, and + his wife, although a woman of high spirit, knew of no appealing. + </p> + <p> + “I could never go against your father, you know that,” said Mrs. Dodd, + following up her advantage. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Abby, “you ought to have warned poor Myrtle. It was a shame + to let her marry a man as spoiled as Christopher.” + </p> + <p> + “I would have married him, anyway,” declared Myrtle with sudden defiance; + and her mother-inlaw regarded her approvingly. + </p> + <p> + “There are worse men than Christopher, and Myrtle knows it,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do, mother,” agreed Myrtle. “Christopher hasn't one bad habit.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you call a bad habit,” retorted Abby. “I call having + your own way in spite of the world, the flesh, and the devil rather a bad + habit. Christopher tramples on everything in his path, and he always has. + He tramples on poor Myrtle.” + </p> + <p> + At that Myrtle laughed. “I don't think I look trampled on,” said she; and + she certainly did not. Pink and white and plump was Myrtle, although she + had, to a discerning eye, an expression which denoted extreme nervousness. + </p> + <p> + This morning of spring, when her husband sat doing nothing, she wore this + nervous expression. Her blue eyes looked dark and keen; her forehead was + wrinkled; her rosy mouth was set. Myrtle and Christopher were not young + people; they were a little past middle age, still far from old in look or + ability. + </p> + <p> + Myrtle had kneaded the bread to rise for the last time before it was put + into the oven, and had put on the meat to boil for dinner, before she + dared address that silent figure which had about it something tragic. Then + she spoke in a small voice. “Christopher,” said she. + </p> + <p> + Christopher made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “It is a good morning to plow, ain't it?” said Myrtle. + </p> + <p> + Christopher was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Jim Mason got over real early; I suppose he thought you'd want to get at + the south field. He's been sitting there at the barn door for 'most two + hours.” + </p> + <p> + Then Christopher rose. Myrtle's anxious face lightened. But to her wonder + her husband went into the front entry and got his best hat. “He ain't + going to wear his best hat to plow,” thought Myrtle. For an awful moment + it occurred to her that something had suddenly gone wrong with her + husband's mind. Christopher brushed the hat carefully, adjusted it at the + little looking-glass in the kitchen, and went out. + </p> + <p> + “Be you going to plow the south field?” Myrtle said, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “No, I ain't.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you be back to dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—you needn't worry if I'm not.” Suddenly Christopher + did an unusual thing for him. He and Myrtle had lived together for years, + and outward manifestations of affection were rare between them. He put his + arm around her and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + After he had gone, Myrtle watched him out of sight down the road; then she + sat down and wept. Jim Mason came slouching around from his station at the + barn door. He surveyed Myrtle uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dodd sick?” said he at length. + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of,” said Myrtle, in a weak quaver. She rose and, keeping + her tear-stained face aloof, lifted the lid off the kettle on the stove. + </p> + <p> + “D'ye know am he going to plow to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “He said he wasn't.” + </p> + <p> + Jim grunted, shifted his quid, and slouched out of the yard. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Christopher Dodd went straight down the road to the minister's, + the Rev. Stephen Wheaton. When he came to the south field, which he was + neglecting, he glanced at it turning emerald upon the gentle slopes. He + set his face harder. Christopher Dodd's face was in any case hard-set. Now + it was tragic, to be pitied, but warily, lest it turn fiercely upon the + one who pitied. Christopher was a handsome man, and his face had an almost + classic turn of feature. His forehead was noble; his eyes full of keen + light. He was only a farmer, but in spite of his rude clothing he had the + face of a man who followed one of the professions. He was in sore trouble + of spirit, and he was going to consult the minister and ask him for + advice. Christopher had never done this before. He had a sort of + incredulity now that he was about to do it. He had always associated that + sort of thing with womankind, and not with men like himself. And, + moreover, Stephen Wheaton was a younger man than himself. He was + unmarried, and had only been settled in the village for about a year. “He + can't think I'm coming to set my cap at him, anyway,” Christopher + reflected, with a sort of grim humor, as he drew near the parsonage. The + minister was haunted by marriageable ladies of the village. + </p> + <p> + “Guess you are glad to see a man coming, instead of a woman who has doubts + about some doctrine,” was the first thing Christopher said to the minister + when he had been admitted to his study. The study was a small room, lined + with books, and only one picture hung over the fireplace, the portrait of + the minister's mother—Stephen was so like her that a question + concerning it was futile. + </p> + <p> + Stephen colored a little angrily at Christopher's remark—he was a + hot-tempered man, although a clergyman; then he asked him to be seated. + </p> + <p> + Christopher sat down opposite the minister. “I oughtn't to have spoken + so,” he apologized, “but what I am doing ain't like me.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said Stephen. He was a short, athletic man, with an + extraordinary width of shoulders and a strong-featured and ugly face, + still indicative of goodness and a strange power of sympathy. Three little + mongrel dogs were sprawled about the study. One, small and alert, came and + rested his head on Christopher's knee. Animals all liked him. Christopher + mechanically patted him. Patting an appealing animal was as unconscious + with the man as drawing his breath. But he did not even look at the little + dog while he stroked it after the fashion which pleased it best. He kept + his large, keen, melancholy eyes fixed upon the minister; at length he + spoke. He did not speak with as much eagerness as he did with force, + bringing the whole power of his soul into his words, which were the words + of a man in rebellion against the greatest odds on earth and in all + creation—the odds of fate itself. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to say a good deal, Mr. Wheaton,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Then say it, Mr. Dodd,” replied Stephen, without a smile. + </p> + <p> + Christopher spoke. “I am going back to the very beginning of things,” said + he, “and maybe you will think it blasphemy, but I don't mean it for that. + I mean it for the truth, and the truth which is too much for my + comprehension.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard men swear when it did not seem blasphemy to me,” said + Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “Thank the Lord, you ain't so deep in your rut you can't see the stars!” + said Christopher. “But I guess you see them in a pretty black sky + sometimes. In the beginning, why did I have to come into the world without + any choice?” + </p> + <p> + “You must not ask a question of me which can only be answered by the + Lord,” said Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “I am asking the Lord,” said Christopher, with his sad, forceful voice. “I + am asking the Lord, and I ask why?” + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to expect your question to be answered in your time,” + said Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “But here am I,” said Christopher, “and I was a question to the Lord from + the first, and fifty years and more I have been on the earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty years and more are nothing for the answer to such a question,” said + Stephen. + </p> + <p> + Christopher looked at him with mournful dissent; there was no anger about + him. “There was time before time,” said he, “before the fifty years and + more began. I don't mean to blaspheme, Mr. Wheaton, but it is the truth. I + came into the world whether I would or not; I was forced, and then I was + told I was a free agent. I am no free agent. For fifty years and more I + have thought about it, and I have found out that, at least. I am a slave—a + slave of life.” + </p> + <p> + “For that matter,” said Stephen, looking curiously at him, “so am I. So + are we all.” + </p> + <p> + “That makes it worse,” agreed Christopher—“a whole world of slaves. + I know I ain't talking in exactly what you might call an orthodox strain. + I have got to a point when it seems to me I shall go mad if I don't talk + to somebody. I know there is that awful why, and you can't answer it; and + no man living can. I'm willing to admit that sometime, in another world, + that why will get an answer, but meantime it's an awful thing to live in + this world without it if a man has had the kind of life I have. My life + has been harder for me than a harder life might be for another man who was + different. That much I know. There is one thing I've got to be thankful + for. I haven't been the means of sending any more slaves into this world. + I am glad my wife and I haven't any children to ask 'why?' + </p> + <p> + “Now, I've begun at the beginning; I'm going on. I have never had what men + call luck. My folks were poor; father and mother were good, hardworking + people, but they had nothing but trouble, sickness, and death, and losses + by fire and flood. We lived near the river, and one spring our house went, + and every stick we owned, and much as ever we all got out alive. Then + lightning struck father's new house, and the insurance company had failed, + and we never got a dollar of insurance. Then my oldest brother died, just + when he was getting started in business, and his widow and two little + children came on father to support. Then father got rheumatism, and was + all twisted, and wasn't good for much afterward; and my sister Sarah, who + had been expecting to get married, had to give it up and take in sewing + and stay at home and take care of the rest. There was father and George's + widow—she was never good for much at work—and mother and Abby. + She was my youngest sister. As for me, I had a liking for books and wanted + to get an education; might just as well have wanted to get a seat on a + throne. I went to work in the grist-mill of the place where we used to + live when I was only a boy. Then, before I was twenty, I saw that Sarah + wasn't going to hold out. She had grieved a good deal, poor thing, and + worked too hard, so we sold out and came here and bought my farm, with the + mortgage hitching it, and I went to work for dear life. Then Sarah died, + and then father. Along about then there was a girl I wanted to marry, but, + Lord, how could I even ask her? My farm started in as a failure, and it + has kept it up ever since. When there wasn't a drought there was so much + rain everything mildewed; there was a hail-storm that cut everything to + pieces, and there was the caterpillar year. I just managed to pay the + interest on the mortgage; as for paying the principal, I might as well + have tried to pay the national debt. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to go back to that girl. She is married and don't live here, and + you ain't like ever to see her, but she was a beauty and something more. I + don't suppose she ever looked twice at me, but losing what you've never + had sometimes is worse than losing everything you've got. When she got + married I guess I knew a little about what the martyrs went through. + </p> + <p> + “Just after that George's widow got married again and went away to live. + It took a burden off the rest of us, but I had got attached to the + children. The little girl, Ellen, seemed 'most like my own. Then poor + Myrtle came here to live. She did dressmaking and boarded with our folks, + and I begun to see that she was one of the nervous sort of women who are + pretty bad off alone in the world, and I told her about the other girl, + and she said she didn't mind, and we got married. By that time mother's + brother John—he had never got married-died and left her a little + money, so she and my sister Abby could screw along. They bought the little + house they live in and left the farm, for Abby was always hard to get + along with, though she is a good woman. Mother, though she is a smart + woman, is one of the sort who don't feel called upon to interfere much + with men-folks. I guess she didn't interfere any too much for my good, or + father's, either. Father was a set man. I guess if mother had been a + little harsh with me I might not have asked that awful 'why?' I guess I + might have taken my bitter pills and held my tongue, but I won't blame + myself on poor mother. + </p> + <p> + “Myrtle and I get on well enough. She seems contented—she has never + said a word to make me think she wasn't. She isn't one of the kind of + women who want much besides decent treatment and a home. Myrtle is a good + woman. I am sorry for her that she got married to me, for she deserved + somebody who could make her a better husband. All the time, every waking + minute, I've been growing more and more rebellious. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Mr. Wheaton, never in this world have I had what I wanted, and + more than wanted-needed, and needed far more than happiness. I have never + been able to think of work as anything but a way to get money, and it + wasn't right, not for a man like me, with the feelings I was born with. + And everything has gone wrong even about the work for the money. I have + been hampered and hindered, I don't know whether by Providence or the Evil + One. I have saved just six hundred and forty dollars, and I have only paid + the interest on the mortgage. I knew I ought to have a little ahead in + case Myrtle or I got sick, so I haven't tried to pay the mortgage, but put + a few dollars at a time in the savings-bank, which will come in handy + now.” + </p> + <p> + The minister regarded him uneasily. “What,” he asked, “do you mean to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” replied Christopher, “to stop trying to do what I am hindered in + doing, and do just once in my life what I want to do. Myrtle asked me this + morning if I wasn't going to plow the south field. Well, I ain't going to + plow the south field. I ain't going to make a garden. I ain't going to try + for hay in the ten-acre lot. I have stopped. I have worked for nothing + except just enough to keep soul and body together. I have had bad luck. + But that isn't the real reason why I have stopped. Look at here, Mr. + Wheaton, spring is coming. I have never in my life had a chance at the + spring nor the summer. This year I'm going to have the spring and the + summer, and the fall, too, if I want it. My apples may fall and rot if + they want to. I am going to get as much good of the season as they do.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” asked Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will tell you. I ain't a man to make mystery if I am doing right, + and I think I am. You know, I've got a little shack up on Silver Mountain + in the little sugar-orchard I own there; never got enough sugar to say so, + but I put up the shack one year when I was fool enough to think I might + get something. Well, I'm going up there, and I'm going to live there + awhile, and I'm going to sense the things I have had to hustle by for the + sake of a few dollars and cents.” + </p> + <p> + “But what will your wife do?” + </p> + <p> + “She can have the money I've saved, all except enough to buy me a few + provisions. I sha'n't need much. I want a little corn meal, and I will + have a few chickens, and there is a barrel of winter apples left over that + she can't use, and a few potatoes. There is a spring right near the shack, + and there are trout-pools, and by and by there will be berries, and + there's plenty of fire-wood, and there's an old bed and a stove and a few + things in the shack. Now, I'm going to the store and buy what I want, and + I'm going to fix it so Myrtle can draw the money when she wants it, and + then I am going to the shack, and”—Christopher's voice took on a + solemn tone—“I will tell you in just a few words the gist of what I + am going for. I have never in my life had enough of the bread of life to + keep my soul nourished. I have tried to do my duties, but I believe + sometimes duties act on the soul like weeds on a flower. They crowd it + out. I am going up on Silver Mountain to get once, on this earth, my fill + of the bread of life.” + </p> + <p> + Stephen Wheaton gasped. “But your wife, she will be alone, she will + worry.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to go and tell her,” said Christopher, “and I've got my + bank-book here; I'm going to write some checks that she can get cashed + when she needs money. I want you to tell her. Myrtle won't make a fuss. + She ain't the kind. Maybe she will be a little lonely, but if she is, she + can go and visit somewhere.” Christopher rose. “Can you let me have a pen + and ink?” said he, “and I will write those checks. You can tell Myrtle how + to use them. She won't know how.” + </p> + <p> + Stephen Wheaton, an hour later, sat in his study, the checks in his hand, + striving to rally his courage. Christopher had gone; he had seen him from + his window, laden with parcels, starting upon the ascent of Silver + Mountain. Christopher had made out many checks for small amounts, and + Stephen held the sheaf in his hand, and gradually his courage to arise and + go and tell Christopher's wife gained strength. At last he went. + </p> + <p> + Myrtle was looking out of the window, and she came quickly to the door. + She looked at him, her round, pretty face gone pale, her plump hands + twitching at her apron. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to be alarmed about,” replied Stephen. + </p> + <p> + Then the two entered the house. Stephen found his task unexpectedly easy. + Myrtle Dodd was an unusual woman in a usual place. + </p> + <p> + “It is all right for my husband to do as he pleases,” she said with an odd + dignity, as if she were defending him. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dodd is a strange man. He ought to have been educated and led a + different life,” Stephen said, lamely, for he reflected that the words + might be hard for the woman to hear, since she seemed obviously quite + fitted to her life, and her life to her. + </p> + <p> + But Myrtle did not take it hardly, seemingly rather with pride. “Yes,” + said she, “Christopher ought to have gone to college. He had the head for + it. Instead of that he has just stayed round here and dogged round the + farm, and everything has gone wrong lately. He hasn't had any luck even + with that.” Then poor Myrtle Dodd said an unexpectedly wise thing. “But + maybe,” said Myrtle, “his bad luck may turn out the best thing for him in + the end.” + </p> + <p> + Stephen was silent. Then he began explaining about the checks. + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't use any more of his savings than I can help,” said Myrtle, and + for the first time her voice quavered. “He must have some clothes up + there,” said she. “There ain't bed-coverings, and it is cold nights, late + as it is in the spring. I wonder how I can get the bedclothes and other + things to him. I can't drive, myself, and I don't like to hire anybody; + aside from its being an expense, it would make talk. Mother Dodd and Abby + won't make talk outside the family, but I suppose it will have to be + known.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dodd didn't want any mystery made over it,” Stephen Wheaton said. + </p> + <p> + “There ain't going to be any mystery. Christopher has got a right to live + awhile on Silver Mountain if he wants to,” returned Myrtle with her odd, + defiant air. + </p> + <p> + “But I will take the things up there to him, if you will let me have a + horse and wagon,” said Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “I will, and be glad. When will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have them ready,” said Myrtle. + </p> + <p> + After the minister had gone she went into her own bedroom and cried a + little and made the moan of a loving woman sadly bewildered by the ways of + man, but loyal as a soldier. Then she dried her tears and began to pack a + load for the wagon. + </p> + <p> + The next morning early, before the dew was off the young grass, Stephen + Wheaton started with the wagon-load, driving the great gray farm-horse up + the side of Silver Mountain. The road was fairly good, making many winds + in order to avoid steep ascents, and Stephen drove slowly. The gray + farmhorse was sagacious. He knew that an unaccustomed hand held the lines; + he knew that of a right he should be treading the plowshares instead of + climbing a mountain on a beautiful spring morning. + </p> + <p> + But as for the man driving, his face was radiant, his eyes of young + manhood lit with the light of the morning. He had not owned it, but he + himself had sometimes chafed under the dull necessity of his life, but + here was excitement, here was exhilaration. He drew the sweet air into his + lungs, and the deeper meaning of the spring morning into his soul. + Christopher Dodd interested him to the point of enthusiasm. Not even the + uneasy consideration of the lonely, mystified woman in Dodd's deserted + home could deprive him of admiration for the man's flight into the + spiritual open. He felt that these rights of the man were of the highest, + and that other rights, even human and pitiful ones, should give them the + right of way. + </p> + <p> + It was not a long drive. When he reached the shack—merely a + one-roomed hut, with a stovepipe chimney, two windows, and a door—Christopher + stood at the entrance and seemed to illuminate it. Stephen for a minute + doubted his identity. Christopher had lost middle age in a day's time. He + had the look of a triumphant youth. Blue smoke was curling from the + chimney. Stephen smelled bacon frying, and coffee. + </p> + <p> + Christopher greeted him with the joyousness of a child. “Lord!” said he, + “did Myrtle send you up with all those things? Well, she is a good woman. + Guess I would have been cold last night if I hadn't been so happy. How is + Myrtle?” + </p> + <p> + “She seemed to take it very sensibly when I told her.” + </p> + <p> + Christopher nodded happily and lovingly. “She would. She can understand + not understanding, and that is more than most women can. It was mighty + good of you to bring the things. You are in time for breakfast. Lord! Mr. + Wheaton, smell the trees, and there are blooms hidden somewhere that smell + sweet. Think of having the common food of man sweetened this way! First + time I fully sensed I was something more than just a man. Lord, I am paid + already. It won't be so very long before I get my fill, at this rate, and + then I can go back. To think I needn't plow to-day! To think all I have to + do is to have the spring! See the light under those trees!” + </p> + <p> + Christopher spoke like a man in ecstasy. He tied the gray horse to a tree + and brought a pail of water for him from the spring near by. + </p> + <p> + Then he said to Stephen: “Come right in. The bacon's done, and the coffee + and the corn-cake and the eggs won't take a minute.” + </p> + <p> + The two men entered the shack. There was nothing there except the little + cooking-stove, a few kitchen utensils hung on pegs on the walls, an old + table with a few dishes, two chairs, and a lounge over which was spread an + ancient buffalo-skin. + </p> + <p> + Stephen sat down, and Christopher fried the eggs. Then he bade the + minister draw up, and the two men breakfasted. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't it great, Mr. Wheaton?” said Christopher. + </p> + <p> + “You are a famous cook, Mr. Dodd,” laughed Stephen. He was thoroughly + enjoying himself, and the breakfast was excellent. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't that,” declared Christopher in his exalted voice. “It ain't + that, young man. It's because the food is blessed.” + </p> + <p> + Stephen stayed all day on Silver Mountain. He and Christopher went + fishing, and had fried trout for dinner. He took some of the trout home to + Myrtle. + </p> + <p> + Myrtle received them with a sort of state which defied the imputation of + sadness. “Did he seem comfortable?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Comfortable, Mrs. Dodd? I believe it will mean a new lease of life to + your husband. He is an uncommon man.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Christopher is uncommon; he always was,” assented Myrtle. + </p> + <p> + “You have everything you want? You were not timid last night alone?” asked + the minister. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was timid. I heard queer noises,” said Myrtle, “but I sha'n't be + alone any more. Christopher's niece wrote me she was coming to make a + visit. She has been teaching school, and she lost her school. I rather + guess Ellen is as uncommon for a girl as Christopher is for a man. Anyway, + she's lost her school, and her brother's married, and she don't want to go + there. Besides, they live in Boston, and Ellen, she says she can't bear + the city in spring and summer. She wrote she'd saved a little, and she'd + pay her board, but I sha'n't touch a dollar of her little savings, and + neither would Christopher want me to. He's always thought a sight of + Ellen, though he's never seen much of her. As for me, I was so glad when + her letter came I didn't know what to do. Christopher will be glad. I + suppose you'll be going up there to see him off and on.” Myrtle spoke a + bit wistfully, and Stephen did not tell her he had been urged to come + often. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, off and on,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “If you will just let me know when you are going, I will see that you have + something to take to him—some bread and pies.” + </p> + <p> + “He has some chickens there,” said Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “Has he got a coop for them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he had one rigged up. He will have plenty of eggs, and he carried up + bacon and corn meal and tea and coffee.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that,” said Myrtle. She spoke with a quiet dignity, but her + face never lost its expression of bewilderment and resignation. + </p> + <p> + The next week Stephen Wheaton carried Myrtle's bread and pies to + Christopher on his mountainside. He drove Christopher's gray horse + harnessed in his old buggy, and realized that he himself was getting much + pleasure out of the other man's idiosyncrasy. The morning was beautiful, + and Stephen carried in his mind a peculiar new beauty, besides. Ellen, + Christopher's niece, had arrived the night before, and, early as it was, + she had been astir when he reached the Dodd house. She had opened the door + for him, and she was a goodly sight: a tall girl, shaped like a boy, with + a fearless face of great beauty crowned with compact gold braids and lit + by unswerving blue eyes. Ellen had a square, determined chin and a brow of + high resolve. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” said she, and as she spoke she evidently rated Stephen and + approved, for she smiled genially. “I am Mr. Dodd's niece,” said she. “You + are the minister?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have come for the things aunt is to send him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt said you were to drive uncle's horse and take the buggy,” said + Ellen. “It is very kind of you. While you are harnessing, aunt and I will + pack the basket.” + </p> + <p> + Stephen, harnessing the gray horse, had a sense of shock; whether pleasant + or otherwise, he could not determine. He had never seen a girl in the + least like Ellen. Girls had never impressed him. She did. + </p> + <p> + When he drove around to the kitchen door she and Myrtle were both there, + and he drank a cup of coffee before starting, and Myrtle introduced him. + “Only think, Mr. Wheaton,” said she, “Ellen says she knows a great deal + about farming, and we are going to hire Jim Mason and go right ahead.” + Myrtle looked adoringly at Ellen. + </p> + <p> + Stephen spoke eagerly. “Don't hire anybody,” he said. “I used to work on a + farm to pay my way through college. I need the exercise. Let me help.” + </p> + <p> + “You may do that,” said Ellen, “on shares. Neither aunt nor I can think of + letting you work without any recompense.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we will settle that,” Stephen replied. When he drove away, his + usually calm mind was in a tumult. + </p> + <p> + “Your niece has come,” he told Christopher, when the two men were + breakfasting together on Silver Mountain. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that,” said Christopher. “All that troubled me about being + here was that Myrtle might wake up in the night and hear noises.” + </p> + <p> + Christopher had grown even more radiant. He was effulgent with pure + happiness. + </p> + <p> + “You aren't going to tap your sugar-maples?” said Stephen, looking up at + the great symmetrical efflorescence of rose and green which towered about + them. + </p> + <p> + Christopher laughed. “No, bless 'em,” said he, “the trees shall keep their + sugar this season. This week is the first time I've had a chance to get + acquainted with them and sort of enter into their feelings. Good Lord! + I've seen how I can love those trees, Mr. Wheaton! See the pink on their + young leaves! They know more than you and I. They know how to grow young + every spring.” + </p> + <p> + Stephen did not tell Christopher how Ellen and Myrtle were to work the + farm with his aid. The two women had bade him not. Christopher seemed to + have no care whatever about it. He was simply happy. When Stephen left, he + looked at him and said, with the smile of a child, “Do you think I am + crazy?” + </p> + <p> + “Crazy? No,” replied Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't. I'm just getting fed. I was starving to death. Glad you + don't think I'm crazy, because I couldn't help matters by saying I wasn't. + Myrtle don't think I am, I know. As for Ellen, I haven't seen her since + she was a little girl. I don't believe she can be much like Myrtle; but I + guess if she is what she promised to turn out she wouldn't think anybody + ought to go just her way to have it the right way.” + </p> + <p> + “I rather think she is like that, although I saw her for the first time + this morning,” said Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “I begin to feel that I may not need to stay here much longer,” + Christopher called after him. “I begin to feel that I am getting what I + came for so fast that I can go back pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + But it was the last day of July before he came. He chose the cool of the + evening after a burning day, and descended the mountain in the full light + of the moon. He had gone up the mountain like an old man; he came down + like a young one. + </p> + <p> + When he came at last in sight of his own home, he paused and stared. + Across the grass-land a heavily laden wagon was moving toward his barn. + Upon this wagon heaped with hay, full of silver lights from the moon, sat + a tall figure all in white, which seemed to shine above all things. + Christopher did not see the man on the other side of the wagon leading the + horses; he saw only this wonderful white figure. He hurried forward and + Myrtle came down the road to meet him. She had been watching for him, as + she had watched every night. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it on the load of hay?” asked Christopher. + </p> + <p> + “Ellen,” replied Myrtle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Christopher. “She looked like an angel of the Lord, come to + take up the burden I had dropped while I went to learn of Him.” + </p> + <p> + “Be you feeling pretty well, Christopher?” asked Myrtle. She thought that + what her husband had said was odd, but he looked well, and he might have + said it simply because he was a man. + </p> + <p> + Christopher put his arm around Myrtle. “I am better than I ever was in my + whole life, Myrtle, and I've got more courage to work now than I had when + I was young. I had to go away and get rested, but I've got rested for all + my life. We shall get along all right as long as we live.” + </p> + <p> + “Ellen and the minister are going to get married come Christmas,” said + Myrtle. + </p> + <p> + “She is lucky. He is a man that can see with the eyes of other people,” + said Christopher. + </p> + <p> + It was after the hay had been unloaded and Christopher had been shown the + garden full of lusty vegetables, and told of the great crop with no + drawback, that he and the minister had a few minutes alone together at the + gate. + </p> + <p> + “I want to tell you, Mr. Wheaton, that I am settled in my mind now. I + shall never complain again, no matter what happens. I have found that all + the good things and all the bad things that come to a man who tries to do + right are just to prove to him that he is on the right path. They are just + the flowers and sunbeams, and the rocks and snakes, too, that mark the + way. And—I have found out more than that. I have found out the + answer to my 'why?'” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Stephen, gazing at him curiously from the + wonder-height of his own special happiness. + </p> + <p> + “I have found out that the only way to heaven for the children of men is + through the earth,” said Christopher. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEAR ANNIE + </h2> + <p> + ANNIE HEMPSTEAD lived on a large family canvas, being the eldest of six + children. There was only one boy. The mother was long since dead. If one + can imagine the Hempstead family, the head of which was the Reverend + Silas, pastor of the Orthodox Church in Lynn Corners, as being the subject + of a mild study in village history, the high light would probably fall + upon Imogen, the youngest daughter. As for Annie, she would apparently + supply only a part of the background. + </p> + <p> + This afternoon in late July, Annie was out in the front yard of the + parsonage, assisting her brother Benny to rake hay. Benny had not cut it. + Annie had hired a man, although the Hempsteads could not afford to hire a + man, but she had said to Benny, “Benny, you can rake the hay and get it + into the barn if Jim Mullins cuts it, can't you?” And Benny had smiled and + nodded acquiescence. Benny Hempstead always smiled and nodded + acquiescence, but there was in him the strange persistency of a willow + bough, the persistency of pliability, which is the most unconquerable of + all. Benny swayed gracefully in response to all the wishes of others, but + always he remained in his own inadequate attitude toward life. + </p> + <p> + Now he was raking to as little purpose as he could and rake at all. The + clover-tops, the timothy grass, and the buttercups moved before his rake + in a faint foam of gold and green and rose, but his sister Annie raised + whirlwinds with hers. The Hempstead yard was large and deep, and had two + great squares given over to wild growths on either side of the gravel + walk, which was bordered with shrubs, flowering in their turn, like a + class of children at school saying their lessons. The spring shrubs had + all spelled out their floral recitations, of course, but great clumps of + peonies were spreading wide skirts of gigantic bloom, like dancers + courtesying low on the stage of summer, and shafts of green-white Yucca + lilies and Japan lilies and clove-pinks still remained in their school of + bloom. + </p> + <p> + Benny often stood still, wiped his forehead, leaned on his rake, and + inhaled the bouquet of sweet scents, but Annie raked with never-ceasing + energy. Annie was small and slender and wiry, and moved with angular + grace, her thin, peaked elbows showing beneath the sleeves of her pink + gingham dress, her thin knees outlining beneath the scanty folds of the + skirt. Her neck was long, her shoulder-blades troubled the back of her + blouse at every movement. She was a creature full of ostentatious joints, + but the joints were delicate and rhythmical and charming. Annie had a + charming face, too. It was thin and sunburnt, but still charming, with a + sweet, eager, intent-to-please outlook upon life. This last was the real + attitude of Annie's mind; it was, in fact, Annie. She was intent to please + from her toes to the crown of her brown head. She radiated good will and + loving-kindness as fervently as a lily in the border radiated perfume. + </p> + <p> + It was very warm, and the northwest sky had a threatening mountain of + clouds. Occasionally Annie glanced at it and raked the faster, and thought + complacently of the water-proof covers in the little barn. This hay was + valuable for the Reverend Silas's horse. + </p> + <p> + Two of the front windows of the house were filled with girls' heads, and + the regular swaying movement of white-clad arms sewing. The girls sat in + the house because it was so sunny on the piazza in the afternoon. There + were four girls in the sittingroom, all making finery for themselves. On + the other side of the front door one of the two windows was blank; in the + other was visible a nodding gray head, that of Annie's father taking his + afternoon nap. + </p> + <p> + Everything was still except the girls' tongues, an occasional burst of + laughter, and the crackling shrill of locusts. Nothing had passed on the + dusty road since Benny and Annie had begun their work. Lynn Corners was + nothing more than a hamlet. It was even seldom that an automobile got + astray there, being diverted from the little city of Anderson, six miles + away, by turning to the left instead of the right. + </p> + <p> + Benny stopped again and wiped his forehead, all pink and beaded with + sweat. He was a pretty young man—as pretty as a girl, although + large. He glanced furtively at Annie, then he went with a soft, padding + glide, like a big cat, to the piazza and settled down. He leaned his head + against a post, closed his eyes, and inhaled the sweetness of flowers + alive and dying, of new-mown hay. Annie glanced at him and an angelic look + came over her face. At that moment the sweetness of her nature seemed + actually visible. + </p> + <p> + “He is tired, poor boy!” she thought. She also thought that probably Benny + felt the heat more because he was stout. Then she raked faster and faster. + She fairly flew over the yard, raking the severed grass and flowers into + heaps. The air grew more sultry. The sun was not yet clouded, but the + northwest was darker and rumbled ominously. + </p> + <p> + The girls in the sitting-room continued to chatter and sew. One of them + might have come out to help this little sister toiling alone, but Annie + did not think of that. She raked with the uncomplaining sweetness of an + angel until the storm burst. The rain came down in solid drops, and the + sky was a sheet of clamoring flame. Annie made one motion toward the barn, + but there was no use. The hay was not half cocked. There was no sense in + running for covers. Benny was up and lumbering into the house, and her + sisters were shutting windows and crying out to her. Annie deserted her + post and fled before the wind, her pink skirts lashing her heels, her hair + dripping. + </p> + <p> + When she entered the sitting-room her sisters, Imogen, Eliza, Jane, and + Susan, were all there; also her father, Silas, tall and gaunt and gray. To + the Hempsteads a thunder-storm partook of the nature of a religious + ceremony. The family gathered together, and it was understood that they + were all offering prayer and recognizing God as present on the wings of + the tempest. In reality they were all very nervous in thunder-storms, with + the exception of Annie. She always sent up a little silent petition that + her sisters and brother and father, and the horse and dog and cat, might + escape danger, although she had never been quite sure that she was not + wicked in including the dog and cat. She was surer about the horse because + he was the means by which her father made pastoral calls upon his distant + sheep. Then afterward she just sat with the others and waited until the + storm was over and it was time to open windows and see if the roof had + leaked. Today, however, she was intent upon the hay. In a lull of the + tempest she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “It is a pity,” she said, “that I was not able to get the hay cocked and + the covers on.” + </p> + <p> + Then Imogen turned large, sarcastic blue eyes upon her. Imogen was + considered a beauty, pink and white, golden-haired, and dimpled, with a + curious calculating hardness of character and a sharp tongue, so at + variance with her appearance that people doubted the evidence of their + senses. + </p> + <p> + “If,” said Imogen, “you had only made Benny work instead of encouraging + him to dawdle and finally to stop altogether, and if you had gone out + directly after dinner, the hay would have been all raked up and covered.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing could have exceeded the calm and instructive superiority of + Imogen's tone. A mass of soft white fabric lay upon her lap, although she + had removed scissors and needle and thimble to a safe distance. She tilted + her chin with a royal air. When the storm lulled she had stopped praying. + </p> + <p> + Imogen's sisters echoed her and joined in the attack upon Annie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jane, “if you had only started earlier, Annie. I told Eliza + when you went out in the yard that it looked like a shower.” + </p> + <p> + Eliza nodded energetically. + </p> + <p> + “It was foolish to start so late,” said Susan, with a calm air of wisdom + only a shade less exasperating than Imogen's. + </p> + <p> + “And you always encourage Benny so in being lazy,” said Eliza. + </p> + <p> + Then the Reverend Silas joined in. “You should have more sense of + responsibility toward your brother, your only brother, Annie,” he said, in + his deep pulpit voice. + </p> + <p> + “It was after two o'clock when you went out,” said Imogen. + </p> + <p> + “And all you had to do was the dinner-dishes, and there were very few + to-day,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + Then Annie turned with a quick, cat-like motion. Her eyes blazed under her + brown toss of hair. She gesticulated with her little, nervous hands. Her + voice was as sweet and intense as a reed, and withal piercing with anger. + </p> + <p> + “It was not half past one when I went out,” said she, “and there was a + whole sinkful of dishes.” + </p> + <p> + “It was after two. I looked at the clock,” said Imogen. + </p> + <p> + “It was not.” + </p> + <p> + “And there were very few dishes,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + “A whole sinkful,” said Annie, tense with wrath. + </p> + <p> + “You always are rather late about starting,” said Susan. + </p> + <p> + “I am not! I was not! I washed the dishes, and swept the kitchen, and + blacked the stove, and cleaned the silver.” + </p> + <p> + “I swept the kitchen,” said Imogen, severely. “Annie, I am surprised at + you.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know I cleaned the silver yesterday,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + Annie gave a gasp and looked from one to the other. + </p> + <p> + “You know you did not sweep the kitchen,” said Imogen. + </p> + <p> + Annie's father gazed at her severely. “My dear,” he said, “how long must I + try to correct you of this habit of making false statements?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Annie does not realize that they are false statements, father,” said + Jane. Jane was not pretty, but she gave the effect of a long, sweet stanza + of some fine poetess. She was very tall and slender and large-eyed, and + wore always a serious smile. She was attired in a purple muslin gown, cut + V-shaped at the throat, and, as always, a black velvet ribbon with a + little gold locket attached. The locket contained a coil of hair. Jane had + been engaged to a young minister, now dead three years, and he had given + her the locket. + </p> + <p> + Jane no doubt had mourned for her lover, but she had a covert pleasure in + the romance of her situation. She was a year younger than Annie, and she + had loved and lost, and so had achieved a sentimental distinction. Imogen + always had admirers. Eliza had been courted at intervals half-heartedly by + a widower, and Susan had had a few fleeting chances. But Jane was the only + one who had been really definite in her heart affairs. As for Annie, + nobody ever thought of her in such a connection. It was supposed that + Annie had no thought of marriage, that she was foreordained to remain + unwed and keep house for her father and Benny. + </p> + <p> + When Jane said that dear Annie did not realize that she made false + statements, she voiced an opinion of the family before which Annie was + always absolutely helpless. Defense meant counter-accusation. Annie could + not accuse her family. She glanced from one to the other. In her blue eyes + were still sparks of wrath, but she said nothing. She felt, as always, + speechless, when affairs reached such a juncture. She began, in spite of + her good sense, to feel guiltily responsible for everything—for the + spoiling of the hay, even for the thunder-storm. What was more, she even + wished to feel guiltily responsible. Anything was better than to be sure + her sisters were not speaking the truth, that her father was blaming her + unjustly. + </p> + <p> + Benny, who sat hunched upon himself with the effect of one set of bones + and muscles leaning upon others for support, was the only one who spoke + for her, and even he spoke to little purpose. + </p> + <p> + “One of you other girls,” said he, in a thick, sweet voice, “might have + come out and helped Annie; then she could have got the hay in.” + </p> + <p> + They all turned on him. + </p> + <p> + “It is all very well for you to talk,” said Imogen. “I saw you myself quit + raking hay and sit down on the piazza.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Jane, nodding violently, “I saw you, too.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no sense of your responsibility, Benjamin, and your sister Annie + abets you in evading it,” said Silas Hempstead with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Benny feels the heat,” said Annie. + </p> + <p> + “Father is entirely right,” said Eliza. “Benjamin has no sense of + responsibility, and it is mainly owing to Annie.” + </p> + <p> + “But dear Annie does not realize it,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + Benny got up lumberingly and left the room. He loved his sister Annie, but + he hated the mild simmer of feminine rancor to which even his father's + presence failed to add a masculine flavor. Benny was always leaving the + room and allowing his sisters “to fight it out.” + </p> + <p> + Just after he left there was a tremendous peal of thunder and a blue + flash, and they all prayed again, except Annie; who was occupied with her + own perplexities of life, and not at all afraid. She wondered, as she had + wondered many times before, if she could possibly be in the wrong, if she + were spoiling Benny, if she said and did things without knowing that she + did so, or the contrary. Then suddenly she tightened her mouth. She knew. + This sweet-tempered, anxious-to-please Annie was entirely sane, she had + unusual self-poise. She KNEW that she knew what she did and said, and what + she did not do or say, and a strange comprehension of her family + overwhelmed her. Her sisters were truthful; she would not admit anything + else, even to herself; but they confused desires and impulses with + accomplishment. They had done so all their lives, some of them from + intense egotism, some possibly from slight twists in their mental + organisms. As for her father, he had simply rather a weak character, and + was swayed by the majority. Annie, as she sat there among the praying + group, made the same excuse for her sisters that they made for her. “They + don't realize it,” she said to herself. + </p> + <p> + When the storm finally ceased she hurried upstairs and opened the windows, + letting in the rain-fresh air. Then she got supper, while her sisters + resumed their needlework. A curious conviction seized her, as she was + hurrying about the kitchen, that in all probability some, if not all, of + her sisters considered that they were getting the supper. Possibly Jane + had reflected that she ought to get supper, then she had taken another + stitch in her work and had not known fairly that her impulse of duty had + not been carried out. Imogen, presumably, was sewing with the serene + consciousness that, since she was herself, it followed as a matter of + course that she was performing all the tasks of the house. + </p> + <p> + While Annie was making an omelet Benny came out into the kitchen and stood + regarding her, hands in pockets, making, as usual, one set of muscles rest + upon another. His face was full of the utmost good nature, but it also + convicted him of too much sloth to obey its commands. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Annie, what on earth makes them all pick on you so?” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Benny! They don't mean to. They don't know it.” + </p> + <p> + “But say, Annie, you must know that they tell whoppers. You DID sweep the + kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Benny! Imogen really thinks she swept it.” + </p> + <p> + “Imogen always thinks she has done everything she ought to do, whether she + has done it or not,” said Benny, with unusual astuteness. “Why don't you + up and tell her she lies, Annie?” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't really lie,” said Annie. + </p> + <p> + “She does lie, even if she doesn't know it,” said Benny; “and what is + more, she ought to be made to know it. Say, Annie, it strikes me that you + are doing the same by the girls that they accuse you of doing by me. + Aren't you encouraging them in evil ways?” + </p> + <p> + Annie started, and turned and stared at him. + </p> + <p> + Benny nodded. “I can't see any difference,” he said. “There isn't a day + but one of the girls thinks she has done something you have done, or + hasn't done something you ought to have done, and they blame you all the + time, when you don't deserve it, and you let them, and they don't know it, + and I don't think myself that they know they tell whoppers; but they ought + to know. Strikes me you are just spoiling the whole lot, father thrown in, + Annie. You are a dear, just as they say, but you are too much of a dear to + be good for them.” + </p> + <p> + Annie stared. + </p> + <p> + “You are letting that omelet burn,” said Benny. “Say, Annie, I will go out + and turn that hay in the morning. I know I don't amount to much, but I + ain't a girl, anyhow, and I haven't got a cross-eyed soul. That's what + ails a lot of girls. They mean all right, but their souls have been + cross-eyed ever since they came into the world, and it's just such girls + as you who ought to get them straightened out. You know what has happened + to-day. Well, here's what happened yesterday. I don't tell tales, but you + ought to know this, for I believe Tom Reed has his eye on you, in spite of + Imogen's being such a beauty, and Susan's having manners like silk, and + Eliza's giving everybody the impression that she is too good for this + earth, and Jane's trying to make everybody think she is a sweet martyr, + without a thought for mortal man, when that is only her way of trying to + catch one. You know Tom Reed was here last evening?” + </p> + <p> + Annie nodded. Her face turned scarlet, then pathetically pale. She bent + over her omelet, carefully lifting it around the edges. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Benny went on, “I know he came to see you, and Imogen went to the + door and ushered him into the parlor, and I was out on the piazza, and she + didn't know it, but I heard her tell him that she thought you had gone + out. She hinted, too, that George Wells had taken you to the concert in + the town hall. He did ask you, didn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Imogen spoke in this way.” Benny lowered his voice and imitated + Imogen to the life. “'Yes, we are all well, thank you. Father is busy, of + course; Jane has run over to Mrs. Jacobs's for a pattern; Eliza is writing + letters; and Susan is somewhere about the house. Annie—well, + Annie-George Wells asked her to go to the concert—I rather—' + Then,” said Benny, in his natural voice, “Imogen stopped, and she could + say truthfully that she didn't lie, but anybody would have thought from + what she said that you had gone to the concert with George Wells.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Tom inquire for me?” asked Annie, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't have a chance. Imogen got ahead of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, then it doesn't matter. I dare say he did come to see Imogen.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't,” said Benny, stoutly. “And that isn't all. Say, Annie—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to marry George Wells? It is none of my business, but are + you?” + </p> + <p> + Annie laughed a little, although her face was still pale. She had folded + the omelet and was carefully watching it. + </p> + <p> + “You need not worry about that, Benny dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Then what right have the girls to tell so many people the nice things + they hear you say about him?” + </p> + <p> + Annie removed the omelet skilfully from the pan to a hot plate, which she + set on the range shelf, and turned to her brother. + </p> + <p> + “What nice things do they hear me say?” + </p> + <p> + “That he is so handsome; that he has such a good position; that he is the + very best young man in the place; that you should think every girl would + be head over heels in love with him; that every word he speaks is so + bright and clever.” + </p> + <p> + Annie looked at her brother. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe you ever said one of those things,” remarked Benny. + </p> + <p> + Annie continued to look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Benny dear, I am not going to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't say you never did, because that would be putting your sisters + in the wrong and admitting that they tell lies. Annie, you are a dear, but + I do think you are doing wrong and spoiling them as much as they say you + are spoiling me.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am,” said Annie. There was a strange, tragic expression on her + keen, pretty little face. She looked as if her mind was contemplating + strenuous action which was changing her very features. She had covered the + finished omelet and was now cooking another. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would see if everybody is in the house and ready, Benny,” said + she. “When this omelet is done they must come right away, or nothing will + be fit to eat. And, Benny dear, if you don't mind, please get the butter + and the cream-pitcher out of the ice-chest. I have everything else on the + table.” + </p> + <p> + “There is another thing,” said Benny. “I don't go about telling tales, but + I do think it is time you knew. The girls tell everybody that you like to + do the housework so much that they don't dare interfere. And it isn't so. + They may have taught themselves to think it is so, but it isn't. You would + like a little time for fancy-work and reading as well as they do.” + </p> + <p> + “Please get the cream and butter, and see if they are all in the house,” + said Annie. She spoke as usual, but the strange expression remained in her + face. It was still there when the family were all gathered at the table + and she was serving the puffy omelet. Jane noticed it first. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you look so odd, Annie?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how I look odd,” replied Annie. + </p> + <p> + They all gazed at her then, her father with some anxiety. “You don't look + yourself,” he said. “You are feeling well, aren't you, Annie?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite well, thank you, father.” + </p> + <p> + But after the omelet was served and the tea poured Annie rose. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Annie?” asked Imogen, in her sarcastic voice. + </p> + <p> + “To my room, or perhaps out in the orchard.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be sopping wet out there after the shower,” said Eliza. “Are you + crazy, Annie?” + </p> + <p> + “I have on my black skirt, and I will wear rubbers,” said Annie, quietly. + “I want some fresh air.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you had enough fresh air. You were outdoors all the + afternoon, while we were cooped up in the house,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you feel well, Annie?” her father asked again, a golden bit of + omelet poised on his fork, as she was leaving the room. + </p> + <p> + “Quite well, father dear.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are eating no supper.” + </p> + <p> + “I have always heard that people who cook don't need so much to eat,” said + Imogen. “They say the essence of the food soaks in through the pores.” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite well,” Annie repeated, and the door closed behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Annie! She is always doing odd things like this,” remarked Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is, things that one cannot account for, but Annie is a dear,” + said Susan. + </p> + <p> + “I hope she is well,” said Annie's father. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she is well enough. Don't worry, father,” said Imogen. “Dear Annie is + always doing the unexpected. She looks very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear Annie is quite stout, for her,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + “I think she is thinner than I have ever seen her, and the rest of you + look like stuffed geese,” said Benny, rudely. + </p> + <p> + Imogen turned upon him in dignified wrath. “Benny, you insult your + sisters,” said she. “Father, you should really tell Benny that he should + bridle his tongue a little.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to bridle yours, every one of you,” retorted Benny. “You girls + nag poor Annie every single minute. You let her do all the work, then you + pick at her for it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a chorus of treble voices. “We nag dear Annie! We pick at dear + Annie! We make her do everything! Father, you should remonstrate with + Benjamin. You know how we all love dear Annie!” + </p> + <p> + “Benjamin,” began Silas Hempstead, but Benny, with a smothered + exclamation, was up and out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Benny quite frankly disliked his sisters, with the exception of Annie. For + his father he had a sort of respectful tolerance. He could not see why he + should have anything else. His father had never done anything for him + except to admonish him. His scanty revenue for his support and college + expenses came from his maternal grandmother, who had been a woman of parts + and who had openly scorned her son-in-law. + </p> + <p> + Grandmother Loomis had left a will which occasioned much comment. By its + terms she had provided sparsely but adequately for Benjamin's education + and living until he should graduate; and her house, with all her personal + property, and the bulk of the sum from which she had derived her own + income, fell to her granddaughter Annie. Annie had always been her + grandmother's favorite. There had been covert dismay when the contents of + the will were made known, then one and all had congratulated the + beneficiary, and said abroad that they were glad dear Annie was so well + provided for. It was intimated by Imogen and Eliza that probably dear + Annie would not marry, and in that case Grandmother Loomis's bequest was + so fortunate. She had probably taken that into consideration. Grandmother + Loomis had now been dead four years, and her deserted home had been for + rent, furnished, but it had remained vacant. + </p> + <p> + Annie soon came back from the orchard, and after she had cleared away the + supper-table and washed the dishes she went up to her room, carefully + rearranged her hair, and changed her dress. Then she sat down beside a + window and waited and watched, her pointed chin in a cup of one little + thin hand, her soft muslin skirts circling around her, and the scent of + queer old sachet emanating from a flowered ribbon of her grandmother's + which she had tied around her waist. The ancient scent always clung to the + ribbon, suggesting faintly as a dream the musk and roses and violets of + some old summer-time. + </p> + <p> + Annie sat there and gazed out on the front yard, which was silvered over + with moonlight. Annie's four sisters all sat out there. They had spread a + rug over the damp grass and brought out chairs. There were five chairs, + although there were only four girls. Annie gazed over the yard and down + the street. She heard the chatter of the girls, which was inconsequent and + absent, as if their minds were on other things than their conversation. + Then suddenly she saw a small red gleam far down the street, evidently + that of a cigar, and also a dark, moving figure. Then there ensued a + subdued wrangle in the yard. Imogen insisted that her sisters should go + into the house. They all resisted, Eliza the most vehemently. Imogen was + arrogant and compelling. Finally she drove them all into the house except + Eliza, who wavered upon the threshold of yielding. Imogen was obliged to + speak very softly lest the approaching man hear, but Annie, in the window + above her, heard every word. + </p> + <p> + “You know he is coming to see me,” said Imogen, passionately. “You know—you + know, Eliza, and yet every single time he comes, here are you girls, + spying and listening.” + </p> + <p> + “He comes to see Annie, I believe,” said Eliza, in her stubborn voice, + which yet had indecision in it. + </p> + <p> + “He never asks for her.” + </p> + <p> + “He never has a chance. We all tell him, the minute he comes in, that she + is out. But now I am going to stay, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay if you want to. You are all a jealous lot. If you girls can't have a + beau yourselves, you begrudge one to me. I never saw such a house as this + for a man to come courting in.” + </p> + <p> + “I will stay,” said Eliza, and this time her voice was wholly firm. “There + is no use in my going, anyway, for the others are coming back.” + </p> + <p> + It was true. Back flitted Jane and Susan, and by that time Tom Reed had + reached the gate, and his cigar was going out in a shower of sparks on the + gravel walk, and all four sisters were greeting him and urging upon his + acceptance the fifth chair. Annie, watching, saw that the young man seemed + to hesitate. Then her heart leaped and she heard him speak quite plainly, + with a note of defiance and irritation, albeit with embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Is Miss Annie in?” asked Tom Reed. + </p> + <p> + Imogen answered first, and her harsh voice was honey-sweet. + </p> + <p> + “I fear dear Annie is out,” she said. “She will be so sorry to miss you.” + </p> + <p> + Annie, at her window, made a sudden passionate motion, then she sat still + and listened. She argued fiercely that she was right in so doing. She felt + that the time had come when she must know, for the sake of her own + individuality, just what she had to deal with in the natures of her own + kith and kin. Dear Annie had turned in her groove of sweetness and gentle + yielding, as all must turn who have any strength of character underneath + the sweetness and gentleness. Therefore Annie, at her window above, + listened. + </p> + <p> + At first she heard little that bore upon herself, for the conversation was + desultory, about the weather and general village topics. Then Annie heard + her own name. She was “dear Annie,” as usual. She listened, fairly faint + with amazement. What she heard from that quartette of treble voices down + there in the moonlight seemed almost like a fairy-tale. The sisters did + not violently incriminate her. They were too astute for that. They told + half-truths. They told truths which were as shadows of the real facts, and + yet not to be contradicted. They built up between them a story marvelously + consistent, unless prearranged, and that Annie did not think possible. + George Wells figured in the tale, and there were various hints and pauses + concerning herself and her own character in daily life, and not one item + could be flatly denied, even if the girl could have gone down there and, + standing in the midst of that moonlit group, given her sisters the lie. + </p> + <p> + Everything which they told, the whole structure of falsehood, had beams + and rafters of truth. Annie felt helpless before it all. To her fancy, her + sisters and Tom Reed seemed actually sitting in a fairy building whose + substance was utter falsehood, and yet which could not be utterly denied. + An awful sense of isolation possessed her. So these were her own sisters, + the sisters whom she had loved as a matter of the simplest nature, whom + she had admired, whom she had served. + </p> + <p> + She made no allowance, since she herself was perfectly normal, for the + motive which underlay it all. She could not comprehend the strife of the + women over the one man. Tom Reed was in reality the one desirable match in + the village. Annie knew, or thought she knew, that Tom Reed had it in mind + to love her, and she innocently had it in mind to love him. She thought of + a home of her own and his with delight. She thought of it as she thought + of the roses coming into bloom in June, and she thought of it as she + thought of the every-day happenings of life—cooking, setting rooms + in order, washing dishes. However, there was something else to reckon + with, and that Annie instinctively knew. She had been long-suffering, and + her long-suffering was now regarded as endless. She had cast her pearls, + and they had been trampled. She had turned her other cheek, and it had + been promptly slapped. It was entirely true that Annie's sisters were not + quite worthy of her, that they had taken advantage of her kindness and + gentleness, and had mistaken them for weakness, to be despised. She did + not understand them, nor they her. They were, on the whole, better than + she thought, but with her there was a stern limit of endurance. Something + whiter and hotter than mere wrath was in the girl's soul as she sat there + and listened to the building of that structure of essential falsehood + about herself. + </p> + <p> + She waited until Tom Reed had gone. He did not stay long. Then she went + down-stairs with flying feet, and stood among them in the moonlight. Her + father had come out of the study, and Benny had just been entering the + gate as Tom Reed left. Then dear Annie spoke. She really spoke for the + first time in her life, and there was something dreadful about it all. A + sweet nature is always rather dreadful when it turns and strikes, and + Annie struck with the whole force of a nature with a foundation of steel. + She left nothing unsaid. She defended herself and she accused her sisters + as if before a judge. Then came her ultimatum. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning I am going over to Grandmother Loomis's house, and I am + going to live there a whole year,” she declared, in a slow, steady voice. + “As you know, I have enough to live on, and—in order that no word of + mine can be garbled and twisted as it has been to-night, I speak not at + all. Everything which I have to communicate shall be written in black and + white, and signed with my own name, and black and white cannot lie.” + </p> + <p> + It was Jane who spoke first. “What will people say?” she whimpered, + feebly. + </p> + <p> + “From what I have heard you all say to-night, whatever you make them,” + retorted Annie—the Annie who had turned. + </p> + <p> + Jane gasped. Silas Hempstead stood staring, quite dumb before the sudden + problem. Imogen alone seemed to have any command whatever of the + situation. + </p> + <p> + “May I inquire what the butcher and grocer are going to think, no matter + what your own sisters think and say, when you give your orders in + writing?” she inquired, achieving a jolt from tragedy to the commonplace. + </p> + <p> + “That is my concern,” replied Annie, yet she recognized the difficulty of + that phase of the situation. It is just such trifling matters which + detract from the dignity of extreme attitudes toward existence. Annie had + taken an extreme attitude, yet here were the butcher and the grocer to + reckon with. How could she communicate with them in writing without + appearing absurd to the verge of insanity? Yet even that difficulty had a + solution. + </p> + <p> + Annie thought it out after she had gone to bed that night. She had been + imperturbable with her sisters, who had finally come in a body to make + entreaties, although not apologies or retractions. There was a + stiff-necked strain in the Hempstead family, and apologies and retractions + were bitterer cuds for them to chew than for most. She had been + imperturbable with her father, who had quoted Scripture and prayed at her + during family worship. She had been imperturbable even with Benny, who had + whispered to her: “Say, Annie, I don't blame you, but it will be a hell of + a time without you. Can't you stick it out?” + </p> + <p> + But she had had a struggle before her own vision of the butcher and the + grocer, and their amazement when she ceased to speak to them. Then she + settled that with a sudden leap of inspiration. It sounded too apropos to + be life, but there was a little deaf-anddumb girl, a far-away relative of + the Hempsteads, who lived with her aunt Felicia in Anderson. She was a + great trial to her aunt Felicia, who was a widow and well-to-do, and liked + the elegancies and normalities of life. This unfortunate little Effie + Hempstead could not be placed in a charitable institution on account of + the name she bore. Aunt Felicia considered it her worldly duty to care for + her, but it was a trial. + </p> + <p> + Annie would take Effie off Aunt Felicia's hands, and no comment would be + excited by a deaf-anddumb girl carrying written messages to the tradesmen, + since she obviously could not give them orally. The only comment would be + on Annie's conduct in holding herself aloof from her family and the + village people generally. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, when Annie went away, there was an excited conclave + among the sisters. + </p> + <p> + “She means to do it,” said Susan, and she wept. + </p> + <p> + Imogen's handsome face looked hard and set. “Let her, if she wants to,” + said she. + </p> + <p> + “Only think what people will say!” wailed Jane. + </p> + <p> + Imogen tossed her head. “I shall have something to say myself,” she + returned. “I shall say how much we all regret that dear Annie has such a + difficult disposition that she felt she could not live with her own family + and must be alone.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Jane, blunt in her distress, “will they believe it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why will they not believe it, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I am afraid people have the impression that dear Annie has—” + Jane hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Imogen, coldly. She looked very handsome that morning. Not a + waved golden hair was out of place on her carefully brushed head. She wore + the neatest of blue linen skirts and blouses, with a linen collar and + white tie. There was something hard but compelling about her blond beauty. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said Jane, “that people have a sort of general impression + that dear Annie has perhaps as sweet a disposition as any of us, perhaps + sweeter.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody says that dear Annie has not a sweet disposition,” said Imogen, + taking a careful stitch in her embroidery. “But a sweet disposition is + very often extremely difficult for other people. It constantly puts them + in the wrong. I am well aware of the fact that dear Annie does a great + deal for all of us, but it is sometimes irritating. Of course it is quite + certain that she must have a feeling of superiority because of it, and she + should not have it.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Eliza made illuminating speeches. “I suppose it follows, then,” + said she, with slight irony, “that only an angel can have a very sweet + disposition without offending others.” + </p> + <p> + But Imogen was not in the least nonplussed. She finished her line of + thought. “And with all her sweet disposition,” said she, “nobody can deny + that dear Annie is peculiar, and peculiarity always makes people difficult + for other people. Of course it is horribly peculiar what she is proposing + to do now. That in itself will be enough to convince people that dear + Annie must be difficult. Only a difficult person could do such a strange + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is going to get up and get breakfast in the morning, and wash the + dishes?” inquired Jane, irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “All I ever want for breakfast is a bit of fruit, a roll, and an egg, + besides my coffee,” said Imogen, with her imperious air. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody has to prepare it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a mere nothing,” said Imogen, and she took another stitch. + </p> + <p> + After a little, Jane and Eliza went by themselves and discussed the + problem. + </p> + <p> + “It is quite evident that Imogen means to do nothing,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + “And also that she will justify herself by the theory that there is + nothing to be done,” said Eliza. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” said Jane, “I will get up and get breakfast, of course. I once + contemplated the prospect of doing it the rest of my life.” + </p> + <p> + Eliza assented. “I can understand that it will not be so hard for you,” + she said, “and although I myself always aspired to higher things than + preparing breakfasts, still, you did not, and it is true that you would + probably have had it to do if poor Henry had lived, for he was not one to + ever have a very large salary.” + </p> + <p> + “There are better things than large salaries,” said Jane, and her face + looked sadly reminiscent. After all, the distinction of being the only one + who had been on the brink of preparing matrimonial breakfasts was much. + She felt that it would make early rising and early work endurable to her, + although she was not an active young woman. + </p> + <p> + “I will get a dish-mop and wash the dishes,” said Eliza. “I can manage to + have an instructive book propped open on the kitchen table, and keep my + mind upon higher things as I do such menial tasks.” + </p> + <p> + Then Susan stood in the doorway, a tall figure gracefully swaying + sidewise, long-throated and prominent-eyed. She was the least + attractive-looking of any of the sisters, but her manners were so + charming, and she was so perfectly the lady, that it made up for any lack + of beauty. + </p> + <p> + “I will dust,” said Susan, in a lovely voice, and as she spoke she + involuntarily bent and swirled her limp muslins in such a way that she + fairly suggested a moral duster. There was the making of an actress in + Susan. Nobody had ever been able to decide what her true individual self + was. Quite unconsciously, like a chameleon, she took upon herself the + characteristics of even inanimate things. Just now she was a duster, and a + wonderfully creditable duster. + </p> + <p> + “Who,” said Jane, “is going to sweep? Dear Annie has always done that.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not strong enough to sweep. I am very sorry,” said Susan, who + remained a duster, and did not become a broom. + </p> + <p> + “If we have system,” said Eliza, vaguely, “the work ought not to be so + very hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said Imogen. She had come in and seated herself. Her + three sisters eyed her, but she embroidered imperturbably. The same + thought was in the minds of all. Obviously Imogen was the very one to take + the task of sweeping upon herself. That hard, compact, young body of hers + suggested strenuous household work. Embroidery did not seem to be her role + at all. + </p> + <p> + But Imogen had no intention of sweeping. Indeed, the very imagining of + such tasks in connection with herself was beyond her. She did not even + dream that her sisters expected it of her. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Jane, “that we might be able to engage Mrs. Moss to come + in once a week and do the sweeping.” + </p> + <p> + “It would cost considerable,” said Susan. + </p> + <p> + “But it has to be done.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it might be managed, with system, if you did not hire + anybody,” said Imogen, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “You talk of system as if it were a suction cleaner,” said Eliza, with a + dash of asperity. Sometimes she reflected how she would have hated Imogen + had she not been her sister. + </p> + <p> + “System is invaluable,” said Imogen. She looked away from her embroidery + to the white stretch of country road, arched over with elms, and her + beautiful eyes had an expression as if they sighted system, the justified + settler of all problems. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, Annie Hempstead was traveling to Anderson in the jolting + trolley-car, and trying to settle her emotions and her outlook upon life, + which jolted worse than the car upon a strange new track. She had not the + slightest intention of giving up her plan, but she realized within herself + the sensations of a revolutionist. Who in her family, for generations and + generations, had ever taken the course which she was taking? She was not + exactly frightened—Annie had splendid courage when once her blood + was up—but she was conscious of a tumult and grind of adjustment to + a new level which made her nervous. + </p> + <p> + She reached the end of the car line, then walked about half a mile to her + Aunt Felicia Hempstead's house. It was a handsome house, after the + standard of nearly half a century ago. It had an opulent air, with its + swelling breasts of bay windows, through which showed fine lace curtains; + its dormer-windows, each with its carefully draped curtains; its + black-walnut front door, whose side-lights were screened with medallioned + lace. The house sat high on three terraces of velvet-like grass, and was + surmounted by stone steps in three instalments, each of which was flanked + by stone lions. + </p> + <p> + Annie mounted the three tiers of steps between the stone lions and rang + the front-door bell, which was polished so brightly that it winked at her + like a brazen eye. Almost directly the door was opened by an immaculate, + white-capped and white-aproned maid, and Annie was ushered into the + parlor. When Annie had been a little thing she had been enamoured of and + impressed by the splendor of this parlor. Now she had doubts of it, in + spite of the long, magnificent sweep of lace curtains, the sheen of + carefully kept upholstery, the gleam of alabaster statuettes, and the even + piles of gilt-edged books upon the polished tables. + </p> + <p> + Soon Mrs. Felicia Hempstead entered, a tall, well-set-up woman, with a + handsome face and keen eyes. She wore her usual morning costume—a + breakfast sacque of black silk profusely trimmed with lace, and a black + silk skirt. She kissed Annie, with a slight peck of closely set lips, for + she liked her. Then she sat down opposite her and regarded her with as + much of a smile as her sternly set mouth could manage, and inquired + politely regarding her health and that of the family. When Annie broached + the subject of her call, the set calm of her face relaxed, and she nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I know what your sisters are. You need not explain to me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But,” returned Annie, “I do not think they realize. It is only because I—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Felicia Hempstead. “It is because they need a dose of + bitter medicine, and you hope they will be the better for it. I understand + you, my dear. You have spirit enough, but you don't get it up often. That + is where they make their mistake. Often the meek are meek from choice, and + they are the ones to beware of. I don't blame you for trying it. And you + can have Effie and welcome. I warn you that she is a little wearing. Of + course she can't help her affliction, poor child, but it is dreadful. I + have had her taught. She can read and write very well now, poor child, and + she is not lacking, and I have kept her well dressed. I take her out to + drive with me every day, and am not ashamed to have her seen with me. If + she had all her faculties she would not be a bad-looking little girl. Now, + of course, she has something of a vacant expression. That comes, I + suppose, from her not being able to hear. She has learned to speak a few + words, but I don't encourage her doing that before people. It is too + evident that there is something wrong. She never gets off one tone. But I + will let her speak to you. She will be glad to go with you. She likes you, + and I dare say you can put up with her. A woman when she is alone will + make a companion of a brazen image. You can manage all right for + everything except her clothes and lessons. I will pay for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't I give her lessons?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can try, but I am afraid you will need to have Mr. Freer come + over once a week. It seems to me to be quite a knack to teach the deaf and + dumb. You can see. I will have Effie come in and tell her about the plan. + I wanted to go to Europe this summer, and did not know how to manage about + Effie. It will be a godsend to me, this arrangement, and of course after + the year is up she can come back.” + </p> + <p> + With that Felicia touched a bell, the maid appeared with automatic + readiness, and presently a tall little girl entered. She was very well + dressed. Her linen frock was hand-embroidered, and her shoes were ultra. + Her pretty shock of fair hair was tied with French ribbon in a fetching + bow, and she made a courtesy which would have befitted a little princess. + Poor Effie's courtesy was the one feature in which Felicia Hempstead took + pride. After making it the child always glanced at her for approval, and + her face lighted up with pleasure at the faint smile which her little + performance evoked. Effie would have been a pretty little girl had it not + been for that vacant, bewildered expression of which Felicia had spoken. + It was the expression of one shut up with the darkest silence of life, + that of her own self, and beauty was incompatible with it. + </p> + <p> + Felicia placed her stiff forefinger upon her own lips and nodded, and the + child's face became transfigured. She spoke in a level, awful voice, + utterly devoid of inflection, and full of fright. Her voice was as the + first attempt of a skater upon ice. However, it was intelligible. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” said she. “I hope you are well.” Then she courtesied + again. That little speech and one other, “Thank you, I am very well,” were + all she had mastered. Effie's instruction had begun rather late, and her + teacher was not remarkably skilful. + </p> + <p> + When Annie's lips moved in response, Effie's face fairly glowed with + delight and affection. The little girl loved Annie. Then her questioning + eyes sought Felicia, who beckoned, and drew from the pocket of her + rustling silk skirt a tiny pad and pencil. Effie crossed the room and + stood at attention while Felicia wrote. When she had read the words on the + pad she gave one look at Annie, then another at Felicia, who nodded. + </p> + <p> + Effie courtesied before Annie like a fairy dancer. “Good morning. I hope + you are well,” she said. Then she courtesied again and said, “Thank you, I + am very well.” Her pretty little face was quite eager with love and + pleasure, and yet there was an effect as of a veil before the happy + emotion in it. The contrast between the awful, level voice and the grace + of motion and evident delight at once shocked and compelled pity. Annie + put her arms around Effie and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “You dear little thing,” she said, quite forgetting that Effie could not + hear. + </p> + <p> + Felicia Hempstead got speedily to work, and soon Effie's effects were + packed and ready for transportation upon the first express to Lynn + Corners, and Annie and the little girl had boarded the trolley thither. + </p> + <p> + Annie Hempstead had the sensation of one who takes a cold plunge—half + pain and fright, half exhilaration and triumph—when she had fairly + taken possession of her grandmother's house. There was genuine girlish + pleasure in looking over the stock of old china and linen and ancient + mahoganies, in starting a fire in the kitchen stove, and preparing a meal, + the written order for which Effie had taken to the grocer and butcher. + There was genuine delight in sitting down with Effie at her very own + table, spread with her grandmother's old damask and pretty dishes, and + eating, without hearing a word of unfavorable comment upon the cookery. + But there was a certain pain and terror in trampling upon that which it + was difficult to define, either her conscience or sense of the divine + right of the conventional. + </p> + <p> + But that night after Effie had gone to bed, and the house was set to + rights, and she in her cool muslin was sitting on the front-door step, + under the hooded trellis covered with wistaria, she was conscious of + entire emancipation. She fairly gloated over her new estate. + </p> + <p> + “To-night one of the others will really have to get the supper, and wash + the dishes, and not be able to say she did it and I didn't, when I did,” + Annie thought with unholy joy. She knew perfectly well that her viewpoint + was not sanctified, but she felt that she must allow her soul to have its + little witch-caper or she could not answer for the consequences. There + might result spiritual atrophy, which would be much more disastrous than + sin and repentance. It was either the continuance of her old life in her + father's house, which was the ignominious and harmful one of the + scapegoat, or this. She at last reveled in this. Here she was mistress. + Here what she did, she did, and what she did not do remained undone. Here + her silence was her invincible weapon. Here she was free. + </p> + <p> + The soft summer night enveloped her. The air was sweet with flowers and + the grass which lay still unraked in her father's yard. A momentary + feeling of impatience seized her; then she dismissed it, and peace came. + What had she to do with that hay? Her father would be obliged to buy hay + if it were not raked over and dried, but what of that? She had nothing to + do with it. + </p> + <p> + She heard voices and soft laughter. A dark shadow passed along the street. + Her heart quickened its beat. The shadow turned in at her father's gate. + There was a babel of welcoming voices, of which Annie could not + distinguish one articulate word. She sat leaning forward, her eyes intent + upon the road. Then she heard the click of her father's gate and the dark, + shadowy figure reappeared in the road. Annie knew who it was; she knew + that Tom Reed was coming to see her. For a second, rapture seized her, + then dismay. How well she knew her sisters-how very well! Not one of them + would have given him the slightest inkling of the true situation. They + would have told him, by the sweetest of insinuations, rather than by + straight statements, that she had left her father's roof and come over + here, but not one word would have been told him concerning her vow of + silence. They would leave that for him to discover, to his amazement and + anger. + </p> + <p> + Annie rose and fled. She closed the door, turned the key softly, and ran + up-stairs in the dark. Kneeling before a window on the farther side from + her old home, she watched with eager eyes the young man open the gate and + come up the path between the old-fashioned shrubs. The clove-like + fragrance of the pinks in the border came in her face. Annie watched Tom + Reed disappear beneath the trellised hood of the door; then the bell + tinkled through the house. It seemed to Annie that she heard it as she had + never heard anything before. Every nerve in her body seemed urging her to + rise and go down-stairs and admit this young man whom she loved. But her + will, turned upon itself, kept her back. She could not rise and go down; + something stronger than her own wish restrained her. She suffered + horribly, but she remained. The bell tinkled again. There was a pause, + then it sounded for the third time. + </p> + <p> + Annie leaned against the window, faint and trembling. It was rather + horrible to continue such a fight between will and inclination, but she + held out. She would not have been herself had she not done so. Then she + saw Tom Reed's figure emerge from under the shadow of the door, pass down + the path between the sweet-flowering shrubs, seeming to stir up the odor + of the pinks as he did so. He started to go down the road; then Annie + heard a loud, silvery call, with a harsh inflection, from her father's + house. “Imogen is calling him back,” she thought. + </p> + <p> + Annie was out of the room, and, slipping softly down-stairs and out into + the yard, crouched close to the fence overgrown with sweetbrier, its + foundation hidden in the mallow, and there she listened. She wanted to + know what Imogen and her other sisters were about to say to Tom Reed, and + she meant to know. She heard every word. The distance was not great, and + her sisters' voices carried far, in spite of their honeyed tones and + efforts toward secrecy. By the time Tom had reached the gate of the + parsonage they had all crowded down there, a fluttering assembly in their + snowy summer muslins, like white doves. Annie heard Imogen first. Imogen + was always the ringleader. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't you find her?” asked Imogen. + </p> + <p> + “No. Rang three times,” replied Tom. He had a boyish voice, and his + chagrin showed plainly in it. Annie knew just how he looked, how dear and + big and foolish, with his handsome, bewildered face, blurting out to her + sisters his disappointment, with innocent faith in their sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Then Annie heard Eliza speak in a small, sweet voice, which yet, to one + who understood her, carried in it a sting of malice. “How very strange!” + said Eliza. + </p> + <p> + Jane spoke next. She echoed Eliza, but her voice was more emphatic and + seemed multiple, as echoes do. “Yes, very strange indeed,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Annie is really very singular lately. It has distressed us all, + especially father,” said Susan, but deprecatingly. + </p> + <p> + Then Imogen spoke, and to the point. “Annie must be in that house,” said + she. “She went in there, and she could not have gone out without our + seeing her.” + </p> + <p> + Annie could fairly see the toss of Imogen's head as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “What in thunder do you all mean?” asked Tom Reed, and there was a + bluntness, almost a brutality, in his voice which was refreshing. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think such forcible language is becoming, especially at the + parsonage,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + Annie distinctly heard Tom Reed snort. “Hang it if I care whether it is + becoming or not,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to forget that you are addressing ladies, sir,” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Don't forget it for a blessed minute,” returned Tom Reed. “Wish I could. + You make it too evident that you are—ladies, with every word you + speak, and all your beating about the bush. A man would blurt it out, and + then I would know where I am at. Hang it if I know now. You all say that + your sister is singular and that she distresses your father, and you”—addressing + Imogen—“say that she must be in that house. You are the only one who + does make a dab at speaking out; I will say that much for you. Now, if she + is in that house, what in thunder is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I really cannot stay here and listen to such profane language,” said + Jane, and she flitted up the path to the house like an enraged white moth. + She had a fleecy white shawl over her head, and her pale outline was + triangular. + </p> + <p> + “If she calls that profane, I pity her,” said Tom Reed. He had known the + girls since they were children, and had never liked Jane. He continued, + still addressing Imogen. “For Heaven's sake, if she is in that house, what + is the matter?” said he. “Doesn't the bell ring? Yes, it does ring, though + it is as cracked as the devil. I heard it. Has Annie gone deaf? Is she + sick? Is she asleep? It is only eight o'clock. I don't believe she is + asleep. Doesn't she want to see me? Is that the trouble? What have I done? + Is she angry with me?” + </p> + <p> + Eliza spoke, smoothly and sweetly. “Dear Annie is singular,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “What the dickens do you mean by singular? I have known Annie ever since + she was that high. It never struck me that she was any more singular than + other girls, except she stood an awful lot of nagging without making a + kick. Here you all say she is singular, as if you meant she was”—Tom + hesitated a second—“crazy,” said he. “Now, I know that Annie is + saner than any girl around here, and that simply does not go down. What do + you all mean by singular?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Annie may not be singular, but her actions are sometimes singular,” + said Susan. “We all feel badly about this.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean her going over to her grandmother's house to live? I don't know + whether I think that is anything but horse-sense. I have eyes in my head, + and I have used them. Annie has worked like a dog here; I suppose she + needed a rest.” + </p> + <p> + “We all do our share of the work,” said Eliza, calmly, “but we do it in a + different way from dear Annie. She makes very hard work of work. She has + not as much system as we could wish. She tires herself unnecessarily.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is quite true,” assented Imogen. “Dear Annie gets very tired + over the slightest tasks, whereas if she went a little more slowly and + used more system the work would be accomplished well and with no fatigue. + There are five of us to do the work here, and the house is very + convenient.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. Tom Reed was bewildered. “But—doesn't she want + to see me?” he asked, finally. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Annie takes very singular notions sometimes,” said Eliza, softly. + </p> + <p> + “If she took a notion not to go to the door when she heard the bell ring, + she simply wouldn't,” said Imogen, whose bluntness of speech was, after + all, a relief. + </p> + <p> + “Then you mean that you think she took a notion not to go to the door?” + asked Tom, in a desperate tone. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Annie is very singular,” said Eliza, with such softness and + deliberation that it was like a minor chord of music. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know of anything she has against me?” asked Tom of Imogen; but + Eliza answered for her. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Annie is not in the habit of making confidantes of her sisters,” + said she, “but we do know that she sometimes takes unwarranted dislikes.” + </p> + <p> + “Which time generally cures,” said Susan. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” assented Eliza, “which time generally cures. She can have no + reason whatever for avoiding you. You have always treated her well.” + </p> + <p> + “I have always meant to,” said Tom, so miserably and helplessly that + Annie, listening, felt her heart go out to this young man, badgered by + females, and she formed a sudden resolution. + </p> + <p> + “You have not seen very much of her, anyway,” said Imogen. + </p> + <p> + “I have always asked for her, but I understood she was busy,” said Tom, + “and that was the reason why I saw her so seldom.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Eliza, “busy!” She said it with an indescribable tone. + </p> + <p> + “If,” supplemented Imogen, “there was system, there would be no need of + any one of us being too busy to see our friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she has not been busy? She has not wanted to see me?” said Tom. “I + think I understand at last. I have been a fool not to before. You girls + have broken it to me as well as you could. Much obliged, I am sure. Good + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't you come in?” asked Imogen. + </p> + <p> + “We might have some music,” said Eliza. + </p> + <p> + “And there is an orange cake, and I will make coffee,” said Susan. + </p> + <p> + Annie reflected rapidly how she herself had made that orange cake, and + what queer coffee Susan would be apt to concoct. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” said Tom Reed, briskly. “I will drop in another evening. + Think I must go home now. I have some important letters. Good night, all.” + </p> + <p> + Annie made a soft rush to the gate, crouching low that her sisters might + not see her. They flocked into the house with irascible murmurings, like + scolding birds, while Annie stole across the grass, which had begun to + glisten with silver wheels of dew. She held her skirts closely wrapped + around her, and stepped through a gap in the shrubs beside the walk, then + sped swiftly to the gate. She reached it just as Tom Reed was passing with + a quick stride. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said Annie, and the young man stopped short. + </p> + <p> + He looked in her direction, but she stood close to a great snowball-bush, + and her dress was green muslin, and he did not see her. Thinking that he + had been mistaken, he started on, when she called again, and this time she + stepped apart from the bush and her voice sounded clear as a flute. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” she said. “Stop a minute, please.” + </p> + <p> + Tom stopped and came close to her. In the dim light she could see that his + face was all aglow, like a child's, with delight and surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Annie?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I want to speak to you, please.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been here before, and I rang the bell three times. Then you were + out, although your sisters thought not.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I was in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not hear the bell?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I heard it every time.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why—?” + </p> + <p> + “Come into the house with me and I will tell you; at least I will tell you + all I can.” + </p> + <p> + Annie led the way and the young man followed. He stood in the dark entry + while Annie lit the parlor lamp. The room was on the farther side of the + house from the parsonage. + </p> + <p> + “Come in and sit down,” said Annie. Then the young man stepped into a room + which was pretty in spite of itself. There was an old Brussels carpet with + an enormous rose pattern. The haircloth furniture gave out gleams like + black diamonds under the light of the lamp. In a corner stood a what-not + piled with branches of white coral and shells. Annie's grandfather had + been a sea-captain, and many of his spoils were in the house. Possibly + Annie's own occupation of it was due to an adventurous strain inherited + from him. Perhaps the same impulse which led him to voyage to foreign + shores had led her to voyage across a green yard to the next house. + </p> + <p> + Tom Reed sat down on the sofa. Annie sat in a rocking-chair near by. At + her side was a Chinese teapoy, a nest of lacquer tables, and on it stood a + small, squat idol. Annie's grandmother had been taken to task by her + son-in-law, the Reverend Silas, for harboring a heathen idol, but she had + only laughed, + </p> + <p> + “Guess as long as I don't keep heathen to bow down before him, he can't do + much harm,” she had said. + </p> + <p> + Now the grotesque face of the thing seemed to stare at the two Occidental + lovers with the strange, calm sarcasm of the Orient, but they had no eyes + or thought for it. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you come to the door if you heard the bell ring?” asked Tom + Reed, gazing at Annie, slender as a blade of grass in her clinging green + gown. + </p> + <p> + “Because I was not able to break my will then. I had to break it to go out + in the yard and ask you to come in, but when the bell rang I hadn't got to + the point where I could break it.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth do you mean, Annie?” + </p> + <p> + Annie laughed. “I don't wonder you ask,” she said, “and the worst of it is + I can't half answer you. I wonder how much, or rather how little + explanation will content you?” + </p> + <p> + Tom Reed gazed at her with the eyes of a man who might love a woman and + have infinite patience with her, relegating his lack of understanding of + her woman's nature to the background, as a thing of no consequence. + </p> + <p> + “Mighty little will do for me,” he said, “mighty little, Annie dear, if + you will only tell a fellow you love him.” + </p> + <p> + Annie looked at him, and her thin, sweet face seemed to have a luminous + quality, like a crescent moon. Her look was enough. + </p> + <p> + “Then you do?” said Tom Reed. + </p> + <p> + “You have never needed to ask,” said Annie. “You knew.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been so sure as you think,” said Tom. “Suppose you come over + here and sit beside me. You look miles away.” + </p> + <p> + Annie laughed and blushed, but she obeyed. She sat beside Tom and let him + put his arm around her. She sat up straight, by force of her instinctive + maidenliness, but she kissed him back when he kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been so sure,” repeated Tom. “Annie darling, why have I been + unable to see more of you? I have fairly haunted your house, and seen the + whole lot of your sisters, especially Imogen, but somehow or other you + have been as slippery as an eel. I have always asked for you, but you were + always out or busy.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been very busy,” said Annie, evasively. She loved this young man + with all her heart, but she had an enduring loyalty to her own flesh and + blood. + </p> + <p> + Tom was very literal. “Say, Annie,” he blurted out, “I begin to think you + have had to do most of the work over there. Now, haven't you? Own up.” + </p> + <p> + Annie laughed sweetly. She was so happy that no sense of injury could + possibly rankle within her. “Oh, well,” she said, lightly. “Perhaps. I + don't know. I guess housekeeping comes rather easier to me than to the + others. I like it, you know, and work is always easier when one likes it. + The other girls don't take to it so naturally, and they get very tired, + and it has seemed often that I was the one who could hurry the work + through and not mind.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if you will stick up for me the way you do for your sisters when + you are my wife?” said Tom, with a burst of love and admiration. Then he + added: “Of course you are going to be my wife, Annie? You know what this + means?” + </p> + <p> + “If you think I will make you as good a wife as you can find,” said Annie. + </p> + <p> + “As good a wife! Annie, do you really know what you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Just an ordinary girl, with no special talent for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “You are the most wonderful girl that ever walked the earth,” exclaimed + Tom. “And as for talent, you have the best talent in the whole world; you + can love people who are not worthy to tie your shoestrings, and think you + are looking up when in reality you are looking down. That is what I call + the best talent in the whole world for a woman.” Tom Reed was becoming + almost subtle. + </p> + <p> + Annie only laughed happily again. “Well, you will have to wait and find + out,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Tom, “that you came over here because you were tired + out, this hot weather. I think you were sensible, but I don't think you + ought to be here alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not alone,” replied Annie. “I have poor little Effie Hempstead with + me.” + </p> + <p> + “That deaf-and-dumb child? I should think this heathen god would be about + as much company.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Tom, she is human, if she is deaf and dumb.” + </p> + <p> + Tom eyed her shrewdly. “What did you mean when you said you had broken + your will?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “My will not to speak for a while,” said Annie, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Not to speak—to any one?” + </p> + <p> + Annie nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have broken your resolution by speaking to me?” + </p> + <p> + Annie nodded again. + </p> + <p> + “But why shouldn't you speak? I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I wondered how little I could say, and have you satisfied,” Annie + replied, sadly. + </p> + <p> + Tom tightened his arm around her. “You precious little soul,” he said. “I + am satisfied. I know you have some good reason for not wanting to speak, + but I am plaguey glad you spoke to me, for I should have been pretty well + cast down if you hadn't, and to-morrow I have to go away.” + </p> + <p> + Annie leaned toward him. “Go away!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I have to go to California about that confounded Ames will case. And + I don't know exactly where, on the Pacific coast, the parties I have to + interview may be, and I may have to be away weeks, possibly months. Annie + darling, it did seem to me a cruel state of things to have to go so far, + and leave you here, living in such a queer fashion, and not know how you + felt. Lord! but I'm glad you had sense enough to call me, Annie.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't let you go by, when it came to it, and Tom—” + </p> + <p> + “What, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I did an awful mean thing: something I never was guilty of before. I—listened.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't see what harm it did. You didn't hear much to your or your + sisters' disadvantage, that I can remember. They kept calling you 'dear.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Annie, quickly. Again, such was her love and thankfulness that + a great wave of love and forgiveness for her sisters swept over her. Annie + had a nature compounded of depths of sweetness; nobody could be mistaken + with regard to that. What they did mistake was the possibility of even + sweetness being at bay at times, and remaining there. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to speak to anybody else?” asked Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Not for a year, if I can avoid it without making comment which might hurt + father.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I cannot tell you,” replied Annie, looking into his face + with a troubled smile. + </p> + <p> + Tom looked at her in a puzzled way, then he kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, dear,” he said, “it is all right. I know perfectly well you + would do nothing in which you were not justified, and you have spoken to + me, anyway, and that is the main thing. I think if I had been obliged to + start to-morrow without a word from you I shouldn't have cared a hang + whether I ever came back or not. You are the only soul to hold me here; + you know that, darling.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Annie. + </p> + <p> + “You are the only one,” repeated Tom, “but it seems to me this minute as + if you were a whole host, you dear little soul. But I don't quite like to + leave you here living alone, except for Effie.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am within a stone's-throw of father's,” said Annie, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “I admit that. Still, you are alone. Annie, when are you going to marry + me?” + </p> + <p> + Annie regarded him with a clear, innocent look. She had lived such a busy + life that her mind was unfilmed by dreams. “Whenever you like, after you + come home,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “It can't be too soon for me. I want my wife and I want my home. What will + you do while I am gone, dear?” + </p> + <p> + Annie laughed. “Oh, I shall do what I have seen other girls do—get + ready to be married.” + </p> + <p> + “That means sewing, lots of hemming and tucking and stitching, doesn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Girls are so funny,” said Tom. “Now imagine a man sitting right down and + sewing like mad on his collars and neckties and shirts the minute a girl + said she'd marry him!” + </p> + <p> + “Girls like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose they do,” said Tom, and he looked down at Annie from a + tender height of masculinity, and at the same time seemed to look up from + the valley of one who cannot understand the subtle and poetical details in + a woman's soul. + </p> + <p> + He did not stay long after that, for it was late. As he passed through the + gate, after a tender farewell, Annie watched him with shining eyes. She + was now to be all alone, but two things she had, her freedom and her love, + and they would suffice. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Silas Hempstead, urged by his daughters, walked solemnly + over to the next house, but he derived little satisfaction. Annie did not + absolutely refuse to speak. She had begun to realize that carrying out her + resolution to the extreme letter was impossible. But she said as little as + she could. + </p> + <p> + “I have come over here to live for the present. I am of age, and have a + right to consult my own wishes. My decision is unalterable.” Having said + this much, Annie closed her mouth and said no more. Silas argued and + pleaded. Annie sat placidly sewing beside one front window of the sunny + sittingroom. Effie, with a bit of fancy-work, sat at another. Finally + Silas went home defeated, with a last word, half condemnatory, half + placative. Silas was not the sort to stand firm against such feminine + strength as his daughter Annie's. However, he secretly held her dearer + than all his other children. + </p> + <p> + After her father had gone, Annie sat taking even stitch after even stitch, + but a few tears ran over her cheeks and fell upon the soft mass of muslin. + Effie watched with shrewd, speculative silence, like a pet cat. Then + suddenly she rose and went close to Annie, with her little arms around her + neck, and the poor dumb mouth repeating her little speeches: “Thank you, I + am very well, thank you, I am very well,” over and over. + </p> + <p> + Annie kissed her fondly, and was aware of a sense of comfort and of love + for this poor little Effie. Still, after being nearly two months with the + child, she was relieved when Felicia Hempstead came, the first of + September, and wished to take Effie home with her. She had not gone to + Europe, after all, but to the mountains, and upon her return had missed + the little girl. + </p> + <p> + Effie went willingly enough, but Annie discovered that she too missed her. + Now loneliness had her fairly in its grip. She had a telephone installed, + and gave her orders over that. Sometimes the sound of a human voice made + her emotional to tears. Besides the voices over the telephone, Annie had + nobody, for Benny returned to college soon after Effie left. Benny had + been in the habit of coming in to see Annie, and she had not had the heart + to check him. She talked to him very little, and knew that he was no + telltale as far as she was concerned, although he waxed most communicative + with regard to the others. A few days before he left he came over and + begged her to return. + </p> + <p> + “I know the girls have nagged you till you are fairly worn out,” he said. + “I know they don't tell things straight, but I don't believe they know it, + and I don't see why you can't come home, and insist upon your rights, and + not work so hard.” + </p> + <p> + “If I come home now it will be as it was before,” said Annie. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you stand up for yourself and not have it the same?” + </p> + <p> + Annie shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Seems as if you could,” said Benny. “I always thought a girl knew how to + manage other girls. It is rather awful the way things go now over there. + Father must be uncomfortable enough trying to eat the stuff they set + before him and living in such a dirty house.” + </p> + <p> + Annie winced. “Is it so very dirty?” + </p> + <p> + Benny whistled. + </p> + <p> + “Is the food so bad?” + </p> + <p> + Benny whistled again. + </p> + <p> + “You advised me—or it amounted to the same thing—to take this + stand,” said Annie. + </p> + <p> + “I know I did, but I didn't know how bad it would be. Guess I didn't half + appreciate you myself, Annie. Well, you must do as you think best, but if + you could look in over there your heart would ache.” + </p> + <p> + “My heart aches as it is,” said Annie, sadly. + </p> + <p> + Benny put an arm around her. “Poor girl!” he said. “It is a shame, but you + are going to marry Tom. You ought not to have the heartache.” + </p> + <p> + “Marriage isn't everything,” said Annie, “and my heart does ache, but—I + can't go back there, unless—I can't make it clear to you, Benny, but + it seems to me as if I couldn't go back there until the year is up, or I + shouldn't be myself, and it seems, too, as if I should not be doing right + by the girls. There are things more important even than doing work for + others. I have got it through my head that I can be dreadfully selfish + being unselfish.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose you are right,” admitted Benny with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Then he kissed Annie and went away, and the blackness of loneliness + settled down upon her. She had wondered at first that none of the village + people came to see her, although she did not wish to talk to them; then + she no longer wondered. She heard, without hearing, just what her sisters + had said about her. + </p> + <p> + That was a long winter for Annie Hempstead. Letters did not come very + regularly from Tom Reed, for it was a season of heavy snowfalls and the + mails were often delayed. The letters were all that she had for comfort + and company. She had bought a canary-bird, adopted a stray kitten, and + filled her sunny windows with plants. She sat beside them and sewed, and + tried to be happy and content, but all the time there was a frightful + uncertainty deep down within her heart as to whether or not she was doing + right. She knew that her sisters were unworthy, and yet her love and + longing for them waxed greater and greater. As for her father, she loved + him as she had never loved him before. The struggle grew terrible. Many a + time she dressed herself in outdoor array and started to go home, but + something always held her back. It was a strange conflict that endured + through the winter months, the conflict of a loving, self-effacing heart + with its own instincts. + </p> + <p> + Toward the last of February her father came over at dusk. Annie ran to the + door, and he entered. He looked unkempt and dejected. He did not say much, + but sat down and looked about him with a half-angry, half-discouraged air. + Annie went out into the kitchen and broiled some beefsteak, and creamed + some potatoes, and made tea and toast. Then she called him into the + sitting-room, and he ate like one famished. + </p> + <p> + “Your sister Susan does the best she can,” he said, when he had finished, + “and lately Jane has been trying, but they don't seem to have the knack. I + don't want to urge you, Annie, but—” + </p> + <p> + “You know when I am married you will have to get on without me,” Annie + said, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but in the mean time you might, if you were home, show Susan and + Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Annie, “you know if I came home now it would be just the + same as it was before. You know if I give in and break my word with myself + to stay away a year what they will think and do.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they might take advantage,” admitted Silas, heavily. “I fear + you have always given in to them too much for their own good.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall not give in now,” said Annie, and she shut her mouth + tightly. + </p> + <p> + There came a peal of the cracked door-bell, and Silas started with a + curious, guilty look. Annie regarded him sharply. “Who is it, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I heard Imogen say to Eliza that she thought it was very foolish + for them all to stay over there and have the extra care and expense, when + you were here.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that the girls—?” + </p> + <p> + “I think they did have a little idea that they might come here and make + you a little visit—” + </p> + <p> + Annie was at the front door with a bound. The key turned in the lock and a + bolt shot into place. Then she returned to her father, and her face was + very white. + </p> + <p> + “You did not lock your door against your own sisters?” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + “God forgive me, I did.” + </p> + <p> + The bell pealed again. Annie stood still, her mouth quivering in a + strange, rigid fashion. The curtains in the dining-room windows were not + drawn. Suddenly one window showed full of her sisters' faces. It was Susan + who spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Annie, you can't mean to lock us out?” Susan's face looked strange and + wild, peering in out of the dark. Imogen's handsome face towered over her + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “We think it advisable to close our house and make you a visit,” she said, + quite distinctly through the glass. + </p> + <p> + Then Jane said, with an inaudible sob, “Dear Annie, you can't mean to keep + us out!” + </p> + <p> + Annie looked at them and said not a word. Their half-commanding, + half-imploring voices continued a while. Then the faces disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Annie turned to her father. “God knows if I have done right,” she said, + “but I am doing what you have taken me to account for not doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Silas. He sat for a while silent. Then he rose, kissed + Annie—something he had seldom done—and went home. After he had + gone Annie sat down and cried. She did not go to bed that night. The cat + jumped up in her lap, and she was glad of that soft, purring comfort. It + seemed to her as if she had committed a great crime, and as if she had + suffered martyrdom. She loved her father and her sisters with such + intensity that her heart groaned with the weight of pure love. For the + time it seemed to her that she loved them more than the man whom she was + to marry. She sat there and held herself, as with chains of agony, from + rushing out into the night, home to them all, and breaking her vow. + </p> + <p> + It was never quite so bad after that night, for Annie compromised. She + baked bread and cake and pies, and carried them over after nightfall and + left them at her father's door. She even, later on, made a pot of coffee, + and hurried over with it in the dawn-light, always watching behind a + corner of a curtain until she saw an arm reached out for it. All this + comforted Annie, and, moreover, the time was drawing near when she could + go home. + </p> + <p> + Tom Reed had been delayed much longer than he expected. He would not be + home before early fall. They would not be married until November, and she + would have several months at home first. + </p> + <p> + At last the day came. Out in Silas Hempstead's front yard the grass waved + tall, dotted with disks of clover. Benny was home, and he had been over to + see Annie every day since his return. That morning when Annie looked out + of her window the first thing she saw was Benny waving a scythe in awkward + sweep among the grass and clover. An immense pity seized her at the sight. + She realized that he was doing this for her, conquering his indolence. She + almost sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, dear boy, he will cut himself,” she thought. Then she conquered her + own love and pity, even as her brother was conquering his sloth. She + understood clearly that it was better for Benny to go on with his task + even if he did cut himself. + </p> + <p> + The grass was laid low when she went home, and Benny stood, a conqueror in + a battle-field of summer, leaning on his scythe. + </p> + <p> + “Only look, Annie,” he cried out, like a child. “I have cut all the + grass.” + </p> + <p> + Annie wanted to hug him. Instead she laughed. “It was time to cut it,” she + said. Her tone was cool, but her eyes were adoring. + </p> + <p> + Benny laid down his scythe, took her by the arm, and led her into the + house. Silas and his other daughters were in the sitting-room, and the + room was so orderly it was painful. The ornaments on the mantel-shelf + stood as regularly as soldiers on parade, and it was the same with the + chairs. Even the cushions on the sofa were arranged with one corner + overlapping another. The curtains were drawn at exactly the same height + from the sill. The carpet looked as if swept threadbare. + </p> + <p> + Annie's first feeling was of worried astonishment; then her eye caught a + glimpse of Susan's kitchen apron tucked under a sofa pillow, and of layers + of dust on the table, and she felt relieved. After all, what she had done + had not completely changed the sisters, whom she loved, faults and all. + Annie realized how horrible it would have been to find her loved ones + completely changed, even for the better. They would have seemed like + strange, aloof angels to her. + </p> + <p> + They all welcomed her with a slight stiffness, yet with cordiality. Then + Silas made a little speech. + </p> + <p> + “Your father and your sisters are glad to welcome you home, dear Annie,” + he said, “and your sisters wish me to say for them that they realize that + possibly they may have underestimated your tasks and overestimated their + own. In short, they may not have been—” + </p> + <p> + Silas hesitated, and Benny finished. “What the girls want you to know, + Annie, is that they have found out they have been a parcel of pigs.” + </p> + <p> + “We fear we have been selfish without realizing it,” said Jane, and she + kissed Annie, as did Susan and Eliza. Imogen, looking very handsome in her + blue linen, with her embroidery in her hands, did not kiss her sister. She + was not given to demonstrations, but she smiled complacently at her. + </p> + <p> + “We are all very glad to have dear Annie back, I am sure,” said she, “and + now that it is all over, we all feel that it has been for the best, + although it has seemed very singular, and made, I fear, considerable talk. + But, of course, when one person in a family insists upon taking everything + upon herself, it must result in making the others selfish.” + </p> + <p> + Annie did not hear one word that Imogen said. She was crying on Susan's + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am so glad to be home,” she sobbed. + </p> + <p> + And they all stood gathered about her, rejoicing and fond of her, but she + was the one lover among them all who had been capable of hurting them and + hurting herself for love's sake. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Copy-Cat and Other Stories, by +Mary E. 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